


Whispers of the Soul

by Freakles



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - School, Art, M/M, Music, there's supernatural elements involved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freakles/pseuds/Freakles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past comes back to haunt Marco. He becomes unsure of the things he sees, what he can smell, or what he hears and can feel. What will happen to him if he’s not saved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _**Hello you wonderful people you!!** This is my first attempt at a fanfic - and Marco is like one of my favourite characters, therefore I wanted to try something for him. So I truly hope it's not displeasing for those of you who read this._  
>  ((also I think my summary is terrible so if you've ventured here onto the page, thank you))
> 
> _Enjoy reading(?) I hope..._

The cry of someone pleading, pleading for their life to be spared, echo about his head; the cry of a person’s name struck a chord in him. He recognised the voice, but whose voice was it? He recognised the name, yet again he couldn’t for the life of him remember who it was. Both felt all too familiar to him that it sent his body shivering.

Bile rose in his throat as the sound of bones breaking sounded. Teeth clenching at the sound of them cracking, grinding against one another. Searing pain began to throb in his legs.  _Why though?_

The cry of another name reached him again. This one was familiar again. His eyes began to water. The name was there stuck as if it were on repeat, this time it sounded further away. His head began to hurt. The name was the only thing going around and around. Why would it not stop? It felt as if his heart was being clawed at. Ripped apart.

Tears tracked themselves down his face as more words were muttered. Before he could think further, a noise that of what sounded as a war cry, made his ears ring, deafening him from all other noises for a brief moment.

Again, there was the name being called out. He felt weak, powerless. His body began shaking violently, yet the more it shook the tighter the pressure around him seemed to grow.

Flesh and muscle tearing was the next sudden sound he heard over the ringing; bones crunching and cracking, grinding against one another once more. Suddenly an agonizing pain overtook him, radiating from the right side of his face; it eventually began spread around his entire body. The urge to scratch and tear away the pain was there. But why was it? Why was he feeling this sort of pain? Better yet, why weren’t his arms moving?

As panic nearly overtook his mind, a sudden gust of wind swept past his seemingly clammy skin, chilling him. It ended with a crack coming from behind when he landed and the pain that was burning up his body, seemed to become worse, doubling up. Unsure what it was, he was still unaware of the reason why he couldn’t focus on anything. He still wanted to scratch the pain away. It was hurting. He wanted it to stop.

The throbbing in his head was worsening, to the extent that it seemed as if it were becoming a deafening silence. The sound of ragged breathing suddenly seemed to be before him, taking over everything. Someone was there. Maybe whoever it was could tell him why his vision wasn’t there. Even possibly be able reassure him that the person crying out was okay. Yes, the person crying out was far more important. His vision was probably due to some dizziness. If that person was alive, he didn’t care. It meant one less loss.

Even before asking, somewhere deep down, something nagging at the back of the mind told him he knew something was wrong. He  _knew_  he wouldn’t be able to vocalise what he wanted. Even though that thought nipped at him, he still tried. Though he tried, it was unsurprising nothing came out. Maybe it was better that nothing did. A though swirled into his mind, that he would rather not hear the response he knew would come out of the persons mouth - that was if they did answer him.

He stomach lurched, twisting in knots. Something was terribly wrong.

Soon distant pounding sounded uneven, rapid, like feet running across the ground. It grew closer, with what seemed murmurs of a panic stricken voice.

Feeling dread knot his stomach, he flinched back.

So the person wasn’t okay? Something had happened. Maybe if they were quick they could help them? A sinking feeling filled his stomach. Something didn’t settle well in his mind, another nagging sensation.

As the pounding grew closer - what he presumed to be feet running - they started to slow down. Although they were growing closer, they seemed as though they were becoming muffled, almost like his mind was blurring, it became fuzzy, disoriented.

Trying his best to strain his hearing, he wanted to hear what the muttering was about. One sounded hurried, panicked; another sounded harsh with what seemed demanding pitches, maybe a leader?

It seemed as the voices grew, the more dysfunctional it sounded; there seemed to be a constant noise blaring in his ear.

Rolling to his side, he still strained to hear but his head came in contact with something, which made a grunt. Groaning, his ear was still ringing like a pain, but there was also a tapping sensation to his forehead.

“Marco, get up.” A voice urged, sounding slightly annoyed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So really and truly I suck at this. Yup. I know. I can't believe people actually ventured onto this fic but wow here you are and thank you. I hope this eventually gets better for you to read._   
>  _(It's alters between the two characters, so I honestly don't know if that's good or not (most likely not), it's just the way it works for me, sorry.)_
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> _Enjoy reading..._

Sitting up suddenly at the familiar voice, he seemed to have caught whoever it was off guard and smacked his head into them.

A louder grunt this time made his eyes blink groggily upwards, rubbing away the sleep, to see an unimpressed boy half bent rubbing a very red looking nose. Feeling an ache begin to happen on his forehead, he reached up to rub the spot when it suddenly clicked into place what had happened.

“Jean, I’m so so sorry. I- I didn’t mean it.”

The other boy stood up, giving his nose one last little tweak, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“It doesn’t matter. Just get the hell up will you.” Poking Marcos forehead and receiving a wince in response, he carried on, “If you don’t hurry, we’re both going to be late.”

Shoving his thumb over towards the clock, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, muttering things beneath his breath. Only then did he notice that Jean seemed to be in ‘formal’ wear, having a tie messily put on himself, not even his top was done up properly. _What did Jean mean about ‘being late’, late to what? Wait since when did Jean wear formal clothes except for... oh._

Shooting his eyes over to the clock, he realised he hadn’t woken up at six thirty when his alarm went off. It was just nearly ten past seven, a whole forty minutes behind; he had at least five or so minutes to get changed and out of the door.

Scrambling out of his bed, he tried to fling the cover over the bed as neatly as he could before he grabbed hold of his uniform darting towards the bathroom.

From his quick change, he rushed brushing his teeth while he tried to fix his bed hair (luckily it wasn’t that messy), he’d have to forget about a shower, he could have a long one when he got back. Running out of the bathroom he threw his pyjamas into his room before heading down the stairs.

As he was putting on his shoes and shoving his arms through his cardigan - hoping his shirt didn’t bunch up underneath it - Jean emerged from the kitchen with toast in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

Forcing the items into his Marcos hands, Jean slipped his own blazer on over top his shirt and cardigan, grabbing hold of both of their bags.

“You got everything you need right? ‘Cause there’s no way in hell are we trekking back here for it.”

Nodding for his reply, Jean took it as an acceptable response and moved to open the door, kicking it open wider with his foot before shuffling out into the fresh autumn air.

Trying his best to not laugh at his friend scrunching in on himself from the breeze, Marco grabbed his key off the hook once he shoved the toast in his mouth (trying not to grimance from the taste of mint still lingering in his mouth), locking the door behind him.

“You sure you’re not going to wear your blazer Marco?”

Munching at his mouthful before swallowing, Marco nodded his head, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s in my bag in case the temperature drops too much.”

Scoffing, Jean slipped his bag over his head, muttering “Just don’t catch a cold, got it?”

A smile graced Marco’s face when he replied, “Got it.”

Trudging around the corner onto one of the back roads, the slice of toast gone, Marco took hold of his bag back, slipping it over his head too.

Walking along in a comfortable silence, Marco glanced around himself, looking up through the colourful leaves decorating the trees either side of the path. He absolutely loved these mornings. The sound of birds chirping to one another like a wakeup call, made a little smile cover his face. The gentle sway of branches as the breeze stroked its way through the gaps, touching all surfaces it came in contact with.

Hearing a rustling of a bag, his eyes glanced over to his friend who was slipping his bag back around and placing an ear phone into his ear; every now and then, it seemed as if Jean strayed slightly to tread of a leaf, a satisfied smirk creeping on his lips when the leaf crunched under his weight.

Stifling a laugh, Marco pulled the cardigans sleeve over his hand and up to his mouth averting his eyes to the trees and the way the path looked golden with the morning sun. Just as he settled his hand beside himself again, another loud crunch sounded making him look over to see Jean in a pile of leaves, a grin spread across his face in achievement.

Breaking out in laughter, Marco shoved his hand back up. Looking up from the pile of leaves. Jean noticed his friend had stopped, looking at him with his eyes shining with amusement. Hurrying back next to Marco and he bumped his shoulder to his.

“What? Tell me you aren’t tempted by all these leaves?”

Shaking his head, his laughter finally died down to just a smile. “I’m not.  But it’s amusing to see you like this.”

Smirking, Jean pushed Marco’s back, carrying on with their walk to school. “It’s normal to get distracted by crunchy leaves.”

Jean continued to express the need to step on them and why they were brilliant to step on. This only amused Marco that much more, to see how childish his friend could become. Agreeing with Jean quietened him down somewhat, well it stopped him from over expressing his ‘crunchy-leaves-need’, or however he worded it.

Looking aimlessly down the pathway, it still stretched on quite a way, probably another five minutes down this path until the next strip.

As his gaze filtered back to his surroundings, he noticed that the sun had seemed to have risen a little more into the sky, the leaves glimmered more, sending down a patchy pattern onto the ground they were walking on. It truly was a moment to be captured with your eyes.

Getting back into walking steadily side by side, Marco picked up a slight muttering, the deep voice making it seem like a weird chant of some kind. Breaking his view of the lit path, he gazed at Jean.

Jean was looking aimless about himself, his lips moving along with the muttering, his finger tapping against the iPod to the tune. Gradually the muttering turned to humming. Smiling at the look upon his friends face, he switched his eyes back in front of him, letting the humming of the upbeat tune keep them company.

As the wind picked up, making the leaves rustle, Jeans humming seemed to grow louder also. The tempo had changed to a slow one, almost enchanting.

Leaves scattered around the ground, some flew in the air, gracefully moving down to the ground; it all seemed as if they were dancing to their own music, in their own unique pattern. Watching them flurry around; Marco gripped onto his bags strap, huddling slightly in on himself. It was getting a little nippy, but it wasn’t anything to put his blazer on for. Heck if he did, he’d feel boiling, uncomfortable with the confined material. Although this would sound weird, it was as if his body felt like it was being suffocated whenever he wore it.

Jean once again changed his humming to another upbeat one. However unlike this other ones, Marco’s ears grabbed hold of it, capturing it, it made his skin prickle, he wasn’t too sure whether it was a tune which comforted him or not, but he still squirmed, adjusting his cardigan.

As the tune reached what seemed to be like its peak, Marco became extremely unaware of his surroundings as his mind flashed to dull colours, his eyes began ringing and screaming seemed to be imprinting itself into his mind. Squeezing his eyes closed, a crying of voice calling out a name, robbed all other sound. Concentrating on that one voice, it became slightly clearer.

_Why was this familiar? What was happening?_

The voice kept pressing his mind, again and again. Before the voice had cleared out completely, before he could hear what the name was, a jolt to his arm awoke him from his trace.

Glancing to his arm, Jean’s hand was wrapped around it in a deathly grip.

“What the hell! Watch where you’re stepping will you Marco.”

Blinking, his eyes glanced around them and to his shock they were by the main road. Shooting his eyes back to Jean, his friend seemed a little alarmed.

“Are you alright? You’ve been a little weird since this morning...”

Nodding his head, he reached a hand up to Jeans pulling it away, trying to hide that he himself was shaking.

“I’m fine Jean, just got distracted.” Grinning to his friend to try to calm not only Jean, but himself down, they quickly made their way across the road once it was clear.

“What was so distracting that you nearly walked in front of a car?” Jean’s voice raised a little, sounding worried.

Rushing through his thoughts, he really couldn’t remember all that well what he was thinking about.

“Just some new material we’re going to be using this term. I’m pretty excited over it.”

Jean just rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear Marco going into detail over stuff he really wouldn’t understand. It was great that he got so enthusiastic over it, Jean was glad that his friend could but he couldn’t for the life of him remember half the things coming out of Marco’s mouth. It was interesting alright, but it wasn’t something he’d be entranced about. It generally went in one ear and out the other. Still, he loved to see the gleam lighting up Marco’s eyes whenever he thought about something that he loved.

Smiling, he made sure Marco was paying attention more so now, before he looked ahead to the area they’d be heading too.  The gate loomed high into the air, their crest raised high and glinting against the sun.

The gate seemed as if it were contrasting against itself. When the sun reflected upon it, it seemed to shine as if it where silver, bright, blinding; it was all just an illusion though as the gate which rose up in spikes was in fact, black.

The crest upon the gate was also another factor which reflected the sun. It was a solid bold statement which proved that this school was part of an even larger school and business, a simpler word would be organization.

To the public, this seemed like a mysterious private school only for the elite kids, not daring to push nor prod further to get some results as to whether it was or was not.

This wasn’t the only school of its kind either though. There were around three or four. If you wanted to attend you had to take exams, nothing major, like English, Maths; some basic answers saying why you wanted to attend the school, and even if it was on your list to attend, sometimes students received letters through the post asking if the said student would go and take the test. However students who got in were selected and picked by the higher ups.  If you wanted to get in and didn’t it was tough luck.

Only those who were fifteen or older got in, even if you faked your age or name, they always seemed to find out and give a penalty to the family.

In the said test you also had to select the four subjects you would like to take.  Sometimes the board would alter them to subjects they think would suit the student more. That rarely happened though, most got their options.

Even though it was an unusual school, with how the process worked and happened, it was there to offer up a variety of chances for its students. Whether your family was filthy rich or stinking poor, you got in.

It was how Marco and Jean were selected, through a letter in the post asking if they were willing to attend the tests. Both of their families forced them into going. Miraculously they were both accepted. It was how the pair met too.

-

 

As the boys made their way across damp grass, their shoes made squelching sounds, sometimes their foot slipping further than they want it to.

“Why do they expect us to walk across grass at this unholy hour?” Jean muttered under his breath as he kept focus on where his feet were treading.

“Technically, we chose to walk across the grass, over there,” Marco’s had rose and pointed to the path which was a distance away, “is the safe path, to which we would be safe walking across.”

Scoffing Jean returned “Well we would take it if we wanted to be late. Only idiots walk over the path. It goes miles away from the school then swoops back in. Plus if it was earlier in the morning then we could, but _someone_ over slept.”

Shuffling onto the path before the gate, Marco raised his hands in what seemed to be a surrendering motion. “I’m sorry. If my mind doesn’t serve me incorrectly, we _always_ walk across the grass whether we’re early or not.”

Jean strode past Marco ignoring the last bit, huffing.

“Then when we’re half way across, you say we should have taken the path.” Marco spoke up behind Jean, as he caught up to him.

“Tch, whatever.”

Drawing closer to the gate, they both retrieved their I.D. badges from their bags once they saw the teacher standing at the gate.

Holding their cards up, the young teacher almost dropped the scanner in hand when she scanned them both in. Jean muttered several things under his breath at how stupid she looked, raising his brow when she glanced at him.

“You may both proceed.” She uttered a little shakily before moving aside for them.

Tapping Jean up the back of the head, Marco smiled warmly at the new (he assumed) teacher, seeing her relax slightly and pulled Jean along behind him.

As they walked through the gates, which loomed around 9 foot above them, Jean shook Marcos hand off his arm.

“Jean, try to be nice to the new teacher will you? It’s most likely her first day manning the gate.”

Submerged into shadow, like it was trying to devour them, they both gave a slight shiver at the drop in temperate.

“Damned trees.” Shoving his hands into the blazers pockets, Jeans pace picked up a little. Ignoring what Marco had said.

“It’ll be fine when we get to the buildings.” Trying to dull the amusement out of his voice, Marcos gazed up at the un-natural heights of the tress towering them.

Once again captured by the vibrant colours which seemed to be scattered across the branches, branches that looked like they were arms tangled together, swaying to a song no one else could hear except them and the leave which lazily danced their way down to the ground spinning and fluttering against the gentle breeze.

 This sight never failed to amaze him. It was different every day with the pattern it worked in.

Sighing in content, he looked in front and behind them on the path. No one else seemed to be around.

A few cars at a slow crawl could be heard, making their way to the little parking lot that parents could go to, to drop of their child. As the path came to the section it joined up to the car area, a few students were milling around, chattering to one another or either waiting for their friends to arrive.

Just as they walked past, a few seconds later a booming voice called “Jean, Marco, wait up.”

Jean went to grab a hold of Marcos had to make a dash for it  (Marco noted with a smile), but before he could clamp his hand around his friends wrist, a large hand came slamming down on Jean shoulder  a few times in a greeting.

Grunting, Jean moved aside sending a glare at the other boy.

“Would it kill you to be a little bit quieter?” Jean hissed, rolling his shoulder back a few times. Before the other boy could answer Jean stalked ahead.

Glancing beside himself, Marco smiled at the pair beside him. “Good morning Reiner, Bert.”

Bert nodded his head in greeting, not lifting his eyes from the paperwork in his hands, whereas Reiner beamed a smile towards Marco greeting him, “Morning. I just need to go discuss something with Jean about our Sports lesson today.”

Charging after Jean once he said that, he waved back, saying he’d see Bert in form and Marco at lunch.

Laughing at the sight of the two running about, Jean trying his best to get out of reach from Reiner, he stole a glance to see if Bert was done scanning whatever it was. It seemed like he was on one of the last pages.

Folding up the pages in half, his shoulders slumped down as a sigh escaped past his lips.

Bert uttered out whilst he tried to juggle the papers and his bag. “Sorry about that, I just had to re-read some of the print out my History teacher gave the class.”

Marco eyed a flustered Bert trying to do something, to what he didn’t know. “It’s fine Bert.”

Halting his walking, he extended a hand, to which Bert seemed grateful as he handed the papers over as he also stopped.

Opening his bag, he rummaged a few things about before taking the papers back and slotting them into the gap.

“Thanks.” he sighed again, looking more comfortable this time though.

As they both carried on walking, silence seemed to descend upon them both. No offence to Bert or anything but Marco always seemed a bit, stumped, was that the right word? No, it wasn’t. Who knew, but Marco always felt unsure of how to approach the tall guy.

To Marco it always seemed as if Bert gave off this uncomfortable aura, he never knew what to talk about, in case he offended him or something, although he felt like that he knew Bert was sort of like a dark horse, hiding his real self away, seemingly timid on the outside.

Shifting his bag, Marco gazed about himself again. What was he going to do when he got to school? Jean seemed to be caught up in something with Reiner for his sports class. So he’d have to wait until form to see Jean again.

Grabbing hold on his bag strap tightly, they reached the end of the long path, Bert bid Marco farewell as he headed to the humanities building to see if he could catch a quick word with his teacher.

Waving until Bert was out of sight, Marco relaxed his tense shoulders, to which he was surprised about. He hardly ever felt uncomfortable.

As the warm glow of the sunlight touched his skin he manoeuvred past the building housing humanities, heading towards the courtyard, where he was hoping to find a few familiar faces before he had to make his way to form. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yeah this is dreadful. /laughs/ Sorry. I haven't really read through it._
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> _I hope you're liking it so far._


	3. Chapter 3

Tapping at the large wooden table, covered in paint and god knows what else, his finger began to follow one of the colours in its crazed swirl about the desk. When he arrived at the courtyard no one he really spoke to was there, so he headed to the art block where his form was. Luckily for him, the room was open.

Adjusting his tie a tad, he glanced about himself, only three others were in the room.

Reaching into his bags pocket, he retrieved his phone, making sure he had no messages or reminders.

Slipping it back into his bag, the scrape of a chair being pulled back and the slam of something against the table had Marco looking straight ahead from his crouched position to see the stack of papers on the table and in the corner of his eye he could see his friends’ head tipping backwards, rubbing his temples.

Sitting up, he thumbed the first few pages seeing that it was either print about different types of muscles and joints along with Jeans tiny handwriting, all in organised neat blocks.

Angling his chair the side between the table and the cupboards on the side, he sat back and watched Jean dissolve through a few expressions when his hands flopped to his sides as he eyed the papers with a look of disgust.

Marco caught Jeans eyes before his friend began shifting his sight between Marco and the pile, opening his mouth and closing it, finally settling on “Ugh” before flopping forward, on his crossed arms he rested his head, grumbling several things under his breath.

Smiling at the childish behaviour of his friend, Marco flipped open his art book, making sure to scan and make sure he had refined his work, checking to see if he had completed some of the points wrote down on the improvements list.

Lifting his eyes to the rest of the room, from the corner at the back where he and Jean usually sat he could see the normal cliques in the form room group where huddled in their usual areas, gossiping about what they done that weekend, or better yet, _who_ they had done (or who someone else had done).

 _How charming..._ Marco shook his head subtly at how disgusting some of the conversations he sometimes overheard were.

Before he got the chance to scan the rest of his work, a hand flopped down on the page. Trailing his eyes up the wrist, along the rest of the arm, Jean was gazing at him

“Marco. Save me. Please.” He drawled out.

“And why do you need saving?” he tried to cover the amusement in his voice. Jean never failed to amuse him surprisingly.

Jean responded by thumping his head down onto the papers.

“My life is going to end soon Marco. Why do they do this? Do they _like_ torturing us?”

Lifting Jeans hand off of his book, he closed it pushing it aside. “Jean, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” his face turned towards Marco, eyes giving an accusing glare, “Have you _seen_ how many pages are there?!” his voice began to raise a tad, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Sifting his weight, Marco pried Jeans head off the papers, pulling them over to himself. “Where’s the sheet your teacher wrote on? You know, the one with the corrections and grading so far.”

Looking back over to Jean, his head was still rested on the table, but instead of on his side it was his chin seated upon his arms gazing towards the front. “It should be in there somewhere. If it’s not on the front, maybe it’s at the back.” Before Marco could persuade Jean to listen and help more, he plugged his ears with his earphones and began humming along to whatever song was playing.

Flicking through quickly, he found the page near the back with a few other notes given. Most of the points had been cleared due to the bullet points being ticked off. Noticing the highlighting Jean had done, it seemed the grade he was aiming for was complete. Yet the teacher had written down in their scruffy writing that he needed to try for the higher grade, as he was capable of it. He had also given a few extra little points for Jean on what to do to reach it. Jean was most likely capable of doing so, he just needed to focus and use his brain more for the last few points than the first bunch.

Moving the papers back in front of Jean, he received a grumble when they were touching his nose.

Leaning back, Jean grabbed them and shoved them into his bag. “I’ll do it, like later,” running his hand through his hair, pulling the headphones out with the other, he shifted so his body was angled towards Marco, “I just... Why pile it all up for weeks, just to hand it back and expect all of it done by Friday? Four days to do all corrections? They must be joking. I have other lessons I need to focus on too.”

Flipping back through his art book, he looked up occasionally to signal that he was listening to the rant his friend was doing.

Five more minutes passed of Jean complaining about the teachers expectations, how some of his classmates wouldn’t do it because they were “thick pricks” and how it was going to muck up his weeks plan.

Jean seemed to always have everything planned for the week, oddly enough, he was quite organized.

As the register had already been completed, their form teacher was tapping away at her computer as the bell rang.

“Form dismissed!” she shouted over the chatter. As the voices raised as the scrape of chairs being pushed back sounded, some clattering together. A few people rushed out to head to the other side of the large grounds - given that you did have five minutes to walk to class, they really didn’t need to rush.

Jean leisurely stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Mumbling at how tiring today was going to be, especially moaning that if he was called “horse face” one more time in rehearsal, he’d kill someone.

“See you at lunch; I’ll meet you outside of here, alright?”

“Sure. Or if I’m finished before, I can come meet you.”

Nodding his head, Jean waved over his shoulder as he followed their form tutor out, seemingly talking to her about something. 

 

Slipping out of his chair he moved over to the sink area, opening the cupboard above it, pulling out several paints. As he pulled a few more things out of the cupboard, he heard a bag hitting the table.

A tray of paint, a blonde boy was leaning over the table catching his breath.

“Good morning Marco.” He huffed out, straightening up and pushing his hair back.

“What happened Armin?”

Placing the tray of paints down on his and Armin’s table, (which reminded him he needed to push another table to it to make their area of work space larger) he took in the boys’ uniform being a little ‘ruffled’.

“Nothing.” Grinning up at Marco, Armin headed off to the area holding the paint brushes and water pots.

Watching the blonde boy moving about in fluid, swift movements, he took into account that he did not seem to notice the few items upon him that shouldn’t be there.

 “Armin, could come over here please?”

“Umm, sure...”

Watching the boy flitter back to the table, placing down the items he had returned from his little stroll about the room, he glanced up at the taller boy.

Standing beside Armin, Marcos hands reached out, pulling leaves from the boys hair and clothes, dusting off the mud that was covering his shoulders.

Lifting the leaves and twigs he had taken from the boy up to his vision, he asked quietly “You sure you won’t tell me?”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Armin bit his lip before moving towards the door and closing. Moving back to Marco, his eyes glanced at the back door which leads on to another art class and the office of the art teachers.

“Maybe I um... sort of uh... bumped into a few people.” shifting his eyes everywhere but Marco, he moved back to his bag, taking out his books. Armin’s soft voice spoke up once more. “You can’t tell anyone, okay Marco.”

“Sure, but I think we’ll need to find you a new top, it’s um, covered in mud.”

Shifting a few things about in his bag, Armin bought out a top raising it up, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I prepared for this to happen.”

Feeling a little bit of anger swell in him, he pushed it back down. He had to keep calm. That’s all he could show. Calmness was his trait, or apparently it was.

Trying to calm, both himself and Armin down (both having different emotions swelling in them), he gave a smile, pointing to the back room.

“Go ahead, the teachers aren’t here. They left a note saying that we’d be the only two in here today and that they’re in a meeting until ten apparently.”

Once Armin had changed, they both retrieved their pieces of work from the other classroom and began to paint more of the images, taking reference and points from their books.

Painting with occasional talking, or being comfortable enough to just listen to the music they had put on, they both made progress on their pieces. Once the first layer had been complete, they swapped books, going through and seeing if they could give one another any points on how to improve more. Sometimes even helping with ideas on what to work next on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yeah I really didn't know whether to put Armin in on this chapter or the next, but here you have him. Cute little Armin._   
>  _(wow I'm doing these chapters terribly. You're most likely going to read the day stretched on for over 7 chapters, well that's a joke, I'll round up the day in the next chapter I hope. I'll sort myself and the writing out soon.) I've just wanted to test out my writing and not push it all in the first chapter._
> 
> If there's any mistakes I apologise. I will go through it another day and probably tweak a few things here and there throughout it.


	4. Chapter 4

After cleaning the brushes, palates and pots up - placing them away along with the paints in their designated areas, they dashed about to see if there was anything else left that needed to be put away.

Patting down his trousers, Armin straightened up reaching for his bag whilst Marco took both of their pieces and placed them onto the racks that descended from the ceiling down the wall. It was high enough that no one else could get them and that they’d dry well.

Grabbing hold of his bag, both boys signed themselves out of the register that was hung by their teacher in the office, after they both received permission, they bid him farewell for the day and unusually they left the classroom earlier than they ever had before.

“It was peaceful today.” Armin seemed like he was bouncing in his steps. “I think I prefer it just the two of us.”

Humming, Marco nodded his head in agreement. It was true. They both seemed more relaxed and were able to finish more of the work than what he had predicted they would.

As they walked through the long corridor, heading towards the doors, their footsteps echoed only slightly. There was the sound of clanking from machinery in the classrooms the other side of the building, the cheery chatter from its students reaching their ears.

Armin pulled up to his locker which was on the way. As he unlocked it with its little key, Marco fiddled with his bags zipper, leaning on the wall opposite the lockers.

Armin began placing his art materials in it and placed a very large book in which Marco caught sight of quickly. He assumed it was for one of Armin’s other lessons which they didn’t share, or like the typical Armin, it was one of the leisure activities he tended to do. Always being submerged in all sorts of books; he seemed to gain knowledge from them and more dreams as he went along.

Slipping out a notebook, Armin finally closed the locker and they carried on their slow stroll to the door.

“Are you wrapped up enough Armin?”

Blinking up at the taller of the two, Armin pulled at his cardigan, looking at all the done up buttons.

“Yeah, it’s not that cold out. I don’t really need to ask you, do I?” smirking up at him, Armin pulled his scarf out of his bag wrapping it around his neck. “Well then Marco, this is where we separate.”

Both facing the outside world, seeing the tree branches sway, it seemed as if they both were sucked into their own little world; As Armin placed his hand upon the glass of the door, he watched as it started to fog up, Marco seemed as if he was just waiting for the right moment to leave the building, so he wasn’t going to push for the blonde to hurry up and open the door.

“I need to get going to the library to check something before I meet everyone for lunch.” Pushing the door open, Armin glanced back giving an odd smile to Marco. It wasn’t peculiar, Marco didn’t know what to class the smile as, yet before he could dwell further Armin managed to say “Say hey to Jean for me.” Before the door clicked shut.

As Armin waved back with a grin now attached to his face, he quickly turned around darting away to the distant building holding one of the two libraries. 

Regaining himself, Marco wasn’t sure why he needed to as they would all see each other in the cafeteria. They usually spread over three tables into their own mini groups.

Shoving his left hand into his cardigans pocket, he used his right to turn down the handle and pushed it open with his shoulder. The cold seemed to bite at his skin a little, but he grew used to it after a few steps out. Gazing about the grounds, a few people where hurrying between buildings, clutching papers or folders tightly in their hands.

The breeze picked up whipping his hair into his eyes. There wasn’t a point to sort it as the breeze would just assault it again and again, wanting his hair to be a mess and not presentable. 

His right hand wrapped itself around his bags strap, to steady it as much as possible, before he started to jog the two-three minute walk to the sport section of the school. The slap of his shoes against the path seemed to be carried away in the wind. Silence was what enveloped him, not a sound seemed out of place.

Even though the shoes he had on were not ones to use to jog in, he carried himself off to the right through an arch to an area which was paths crossing across a green area.

Gardening groups came out to do a green thumb thing, plants where off to one area, benches were dotted about with some people sitting on reading or relaxing. As he came to the intersection of paths, he went up the yellowed one, which led to the building he was aiming to go to.

The art students also pitched in, in areas that they were allowed to. Painting walls with the schools permission. Obviously the paths were also decorated each path a different colour and doodles such as equipment used within that lesson, so you could easily find the area you need to go to if you were a new student or teacher. Unfortunately this was the only area which seemed to thrive life like this. The rest of the school was, well, ‘classy’, ‘sophisticated’, much like how the school was assumed to be business like, showing its students as young adults.

Slowing his pace to a walk again, Marco gazed through the arch leading to the area most avoided. Seeing a few walking towards the other arch which led to the cafeteria, he briskly made his way to the main building.

Slipping in through the door, the heat hit him straight away, the smell of sweat taking over the fresh earthy autumn air. Suppressing a shudder from the sudden change, he gave a half wave or a slight nod of his head in the direction where teachers had greeted him.

Hurrying his way down one of the corridors, he hoped it was the right one. He had to duck around a few of the older students who were chatting animatedly with their hands, sweat spraying off from the movements, sometimes due to the chat, spit would fly out of their mouths. Cringing and clinging to the wall, he waited until all ten of them had left, letting out a sigh of relief once they vanished from sight.

Finally at the right area he went over to the seats situated on the other side of the wide corridor. Placing his bag by his feet, he rested his elbows on his knees leaning forward. It wasn’t too long ‘till Jeans class would be let out.

Minutes passed eventually leading him to twiddle his thumbs, eventually hearing a large commotion start behind the door that was on the other side further back. Pausing his thumbs, his eyes glanced at the door before going back to watch his hands like they were the most interesting things in existence.

A loud crash followed by a chorus of cheers sounded behind the doors. Someone’s voice raised only to be dulled out by more cheers and laughter.

Shaking his head at the class, he started to pick at his nails; he chipped away the slight amount of paint that had sprayed there, when a loud thump was heard and someone started to curse and shout back through the door.

Raising his head, a few strands of his head fell into his eyes, however that hadn’t stopped him from seeing his friend seething in... rage?

Before he called out to Jean, his friend had stormed past him, his jaw clenched.

“Oi Jean, don’t get so pissy! It was a joke!” looking from the corner of his eye towards the door, he saw Reiner standing there, clutching his stomach almost of if he was trying to hold his laughter in. His face was red and his eyes were watering. “Jean! Hey, answer me.”

Completely ignoring him, Jean carried on his stalking. Grabbing his bag in one hand, Marco scampered after his friend, glancing back once more to see Reiner and a few others holding on to one another, laughing silently. Whether it was that they had got to the point where they couldn’t physically make any more noise or to not anger Jean anymore than they had. Either way Marco didn’t want to upset his friend by laughing at the sight of them nearly falling to the ground in front of the changing room doors.

Falling into step beside Jean, he was able to secure his bag over his shoulder before they both reached outside.

Taking a few steps in the direction towards the path he’d been on only ten minutes before, Jeans hand suddenly clamped around Marco’s wrist and began to drag him in another direction, not even sparing a glance back to him. His face was like stone, set in an un-amused expression, leaving Marco feeling slightly on edge.

Hearing someone shouting after Jean - due to the fast pace they were walking (well it was nearly jogging honestly) - Marco struggled to turn his head back towards the doorway, every bump in their steps his vision jogged, managing to catch sight of a flustered teacher failing his arms about with papers clutched tightly in his hand.

Awkwardly turning his sight back around, the tense way Jean was still carrying himself made him wonder what had pissed him off this much. Did their teasing get out of hand again? He wasn’t sure if the others had overstepped the boundary or what; dare he ask? _Heck no. I’d rather leave my head attached to my neck thanks._ He thought to himself before he stood on the back of Jeans shoes, sending them stumbling forward a few steps.

Regaining their footing, the hand around Marcos wrist tightened a little before it loosened. Taking in a deep breath, Jean started to head forward again, this time in a slower pace. It seemed as if he were leading Marco around the edge of the grounds, to where? Marco still hadn’t an idea as they were far away from the cafeteria now.

Suddenly veering off to the right, through a short passage way, Jean let go of Marcos wrist as they happened to be in front of one of the small shops about the grounds. Even this bizarre school had dorms in which some students selected to live in rather than outside of the grounds, so of course food places had been dotted about the place, varying in what they sold. (It also offered some students jobs to earn money.)

Jean made his way through the door and slipped into one of the booths off to the left, not bothering to wait for Marco again. Pushing the door to a close, Marco gazed about the shop only noting two others were in here, one being behind the counter submerged in a book and the other was in the far corner tapping away furiously at a laptop.

Placing his bag on the booth on the opposite side of the table, the slumped body language of his friend and his gaze being locked out of the window beside the table, made it clear he wasn’t going to get an answer out of him just yet.

Moving up to the counter he order a coffee, a tea with a pot of milk along with two pasties, one being steak and the other chicken. It wasn’t exactly that healthy or appetising, he knew that, but it was food.

Handing over his student card, the girl gave him an overly cheery smile when scanning the card, she handed it back along with the tray. Taking the tray, it only took the girl a second for her face to fall and to get back to her seat, picking up where she left off in her book.

Sliding the tray on the table, he placed some sugar sachets down in front of the slumped figure. Jean’s eyes zoned in on the coffee, automatically taking it and pouring two sugars in, stirring it idly. Pouring milk into his tea, Marco watched as the two liquids merged, swirling together, still not yet willing to break the silence.

Minutes passed where they both watched their own cups, the steam from the hot liquid rising into the air before evaporating. Much like the milk in Marco’s tea went in swirling formations, before the liquids merged.

Jean moved his hands in a rubbing motion about the surface of the cup catching Marco’s attention, he was looking up at Jean from his slight hunched position; he looked like he was in deep concentration with his brows furrowed, his fingers gripping his cup, the tips turning white from the pressure. The grip seemed to tighten before loosening once Jean’s sight lingered outside again, it made Marco wonder how the cup didn’t break under such pressure.

Taking hold of his own cup in his right hand, he lifted it up pressing his lips against the warmth which began to seep through them. Tilting it back, hot liquid filled his mouth before leaving a trail down his throat, luckily not burning him. As his cup made contact with the wooden table a sigh before him captured his attention, again.

Leaning into his left hand, elbow resting atop the table, he watched as his friends shoulders slumped and body shift. Jeans eyes tracing themselves to the warm ones of Marcos that were looking at him. Hair falling in Jeans face, Marco tried to study the expressions under the hair face; unfortunately he wasn’t one who could read emotions in .5 seconds, as they passed quickly over the mask before disappearing.

Beginning to open his mouth he was cut off as Jean gave a huff, flopping back in the booth reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The hand still holding the cup traced a finger around the rim. Moving from his nose, his hand went to the blonde hair, dishevelling it. Showing the tones of colours when the sun caught it.

“I can’t stand those idiots.” His voice whispered into the air surrounding them.

Marco laughed under his breath. Oh how he had heard those words a lot. Blowing into the cup, steam coated his face before he took another sip, his insides warming up.

Leaning his elbows on the table (what table manners, eh), hands lingering with the cup before his face, his thumb absent-mindedly began to rub back and forth along the smooth surface. Now that he hands were level with his eyes he noticed paint underneath a few nails even though he had scrubbed at them for a while, and chipped some away.

A clang from china touching together drew Marco away from inspecting his nails. He saw Jean lent back again, his arm flopped back against the head of the booth, a satisfied sound leaving his mouth after drinking some of his coffee. Nothing better than a hot drink on a fresh morning, was Jeans usual excuse when he got a black coffee. Though Marco didn’t know why he said such a thing, it was a person’s choice of what they drank. Like it was his to drink milky tea, coffee was a drink he had rarely - only when he craved it would he get one, but still he had to add milk and not drink it like his friend. Shuddering at the thought of having black coffee his mind began to wonder. Thinking about all the drinks they’d had and tried. Much to Jean’s protesting of course.

A wet napkin hitting his face got him back to the present; his eyes widened as he pulled it off atop his cup and placed both items down on the tables surface. From the table rattling, Jean was covering a hand over his mouth. His eyes alight.

“I didn’t think you were that deep in thought. Oh god.” Another burst of laughter took over again, his palm hitting the table top, “Oh god, Marco. Wow.” Rubbing at his eyes, Jean took another napkin – this time a dry one thankfully – and reached over, “You got a little coffee on you.”

His friend gently patted the coffee off of his face, stifling another round of laughter every time he looked Marco in the eyes.

“I thought you were going to catch it. But your face... Oh god.” Scrunching the napkin up, Jean put it on the tray, still laughter lingering in his voice.

As the minutes as their lunch passed by, Marco didn’t try to get an answer from Jean as to why they were across the other side schools grounds. Jean’s mood had lifted and that was enough for him. Even if his face smelt of coffee now.

They started to talk about nonsense really, like the programmes they watched the night before, what they had done over the weekend, how work was. Their idle chatter came to an end when Marco noticed the time.

“I’ve got to head over to English now.” As Jean was finishing off his third coffee he looked over the top of the cup.

“That time already huh?”

Gripping hold of his bag, he was at the door when Jean thrust a wrapped thing towards him.

“We didn’t eat. Either you eat it now or wait ‘till later to do so.”

Smiling he said he'd meet Jean later in their usual spot they met before heading home.

Taking hold of the pasty, he waved through the glass to his friend before he hurried over to his next and thankfully last class today. Two lessons in one day was not that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It's a little terrible, yeah, I know. I've completed the stretched out day though. Wooo. Finally._
> 
> _Things will be happening gradually to Marco (and Jean) in future chapters._
> 
> _I will also add more tags as it goes a long. Like characters, and key things that'll crop up more. If there is any mistakes, sorry._
> 
>    
> Thanks for reading. I hope you have a nice day.


	5. Chapter 5

As the week progressed, not only did he see Jean stressing over the pile of work being handed back to him to make corrections on, he also had this own pile forming. Art, he had a list of Artists to research, try to create a piece of their work by himself and then proceed to create his own in the same style, following up by writing things on the pieces. The list went on in Art of what he needed to do technically; he’d never get a break from that. Next was his photography work, he had to keep a day spare where he could go out and capture a few things for it, when that day would be he hadn’t a clue as of yet. Another thing was that had to type up an eight-hundred word essay on a film his film studies class had watched.

He’d tried to spend at least an hour per day on each subject, but so far Art had dominated his time, by going over work, perfecting the angles, the sharpness, the paint strokes, the written words. He had to re-do a piece around five times already. Eventually it earned a frustrated sigh and a ball of screwed up paper flying across the room.

Falling back on the floor, his back cushioned by the cream rug beneath him, his hand stretched beside him for a cushion that had fallen from the sofa. He placed it over his face giving out a scream, hoping it was muffled enough so he wouldn’t get in trouble.

Pulling it so his eyes could peek over the top of it, his head turned sideways to see the ball of paper just sat on the floor, like it was taunting him that he wasn’t able to focus on it.

Rolling onto his stomach, he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. Three long hours he had tried to focus on this piece. Three hours of him having to fight the urge to just go back to bed and hide from the world.

Feeling a throb behind his eyes, he rubbed them. He’d been getting headaches recently, ever since his head collided with Jeans nose that was. As he rolled back onto his back, his mind began to think up ridiculous things such as his brain may be damaged due to knocking into his friends’ nose. Jean’s tapping on his head could have killed some brain cells off. Rubbing his temples, a laugh escaped past his lips.

Of course that wasn’t the reason. How his mind went a weird. The headaches that came whenever were not unusual; it was like a typical person who assumed. It was probably due to either too much time spent unblinking at a page or screen in concentration, or not drinking enough could also be another possibility.

Laying there was perfectly fine by him. The ticking clock was the only sound that occupied the room, his own breathing and heartbeat seemingly drowned out by the constant sound. In the background cars driving across a wet road was heard. A usual day; the ever present sounds lulling his eyes close as he held the cushion to his chest.

Well that was until his stomach seemed to scream at him for food. Unimpressed with the interruption, his eyes opened slowly, only to be distracted by the pattern on the ceiling.

Another grumble made him huff. He placed a hand beside himself trying to push himself up, however he failed and fell back, his head thumping the floor a little harder even with the rug there. Wincing at the jolt which caused the pain to increase, he tried again thankfully getting into a sitting position.

He needed to go rummage about, see what food was in the house. Something quick and easy would do.

Able to get to his feet easier this time, he threw the ‘decorative’ cushion back onto the sofa on his way through, hoping it was in an acceptable place. He didn’t want his mum to come home and complain about his lack to detail. Hah. It was a cushion, not an art piece. If he were in a better mood he’d try to sort them out better.

Bare feet padding against cold tiles, his arms stretched above his head. Hearing his back crack, his arms flopped to his sides as he stood in the middle of the kitchen.

_To invade the cupboards or the fridge first, what should I pick?_

Moving over to the fridge, he pulled the door open to gaze in deciding nothing looked very appealing. With the door closed, he made his way through several cupboards. After another trip to the fridge and also the freezer, nothing jumped out to him again. Back to cupboards, he stood in the middle of the room, gazing at the contents through all the open doors.

Crossing his arms, his eyes locked on certain things before moving to the next.

_Could I be bothered to do pasta? Nah. Would an omelette do? Nope. Doritos...? Yeah. Why not? No one’s home to complain about it._

Shoulders slumping, he shut doors and grabbed out a packet of Doritos, feet eventually shuffling back to the living room. Going over to his corner of the room, he flopped into his chair with his feet up on the other side, fidgeting to get comfier.

As he sank into the pillows that surrounded him, he opened the bag and began munching on them. After a day of trying his hardest with his art, he was allowed a lazy night accompanied with an unhealthy dinner.

Moving so he could grab his laptop off the side table, he flipped the on button waiting for the thing to come to life. Typing in his password with one hand, he eventually got in and clicked on the internet.

Before the blog site had even loaded properly, Jeans icon popped up, flashing manically to get attention. Well congrats; it got his attention, like it always did.

Clicking on the icon, a box flashed up. His eyes scanned the few words his friend had typed to him, seeing he was being insulted already.

**Jean: You’re a dick, you know. **

Blinking at the screen, his head cocked slightly to the side. He was a dick?

**Marco: Enlighten me?**

**Jean: You ignored me.**

Dorito half way to his mouth, he froze, thinking of when he had done such a thing. Nothing came to mind. Popping the dorito in his mouth, he quickly responded.

**Marco: When?**

**Jean: Never mind you idiot.**

**Jean: Where the hell is your phone anyway?! **

**Marco: Umm....**

Patting at his trouser pockets, he came up empty handed which lead him to pop his head overtop his laptops screen to gaze about the room. Zoning in on the only place he’d been, he couldn’t pinpoint his phone on the coffee table at all, just littered paper, paint and charcoal.

**Marco: Why?**

Seeing the notice popping up saying _Jean is typing,_ only to stop and start again. Eventually from minutes of the same note something was sent.

**Jean: Doesn’t matter anymore. **

After a brief pause, he’d received another message.

**Jean: You obviously had far more important things to do anyway.**

**Jean: your friend could have been dying and you wouldn’t know it**

**Marco: Yes my date with Nina was extremely important.      **

**Jean: YOU had a DATE?! **

**Jean: What the hell?**

**Jean:   Since when?**

**Jean: Omfg. Why didn’t you tell me? **

Seeing his friend blowing up their chat, he burst out laughing at how gullible he was. Did Jean seriously think he’d have a date? Well yeah, looks like it.

Noticing another chat pop up, he let Jean continue his assault of questions, firing at him at how damned rude it was him not to tell him he was going on a ‘date’. Little did he know that Marcos _‘date’_  had consisted of sitting around the coffee table constantly shifting positions, gripping his hair in frustration when the strokes of paint didn’t go _just right_.

Clicking on the flashing chat, Armins tiny blue text appeared on screen.

**Armin: Where have you been Marco? **

**Marco: Working, why?**

As his hand came up empty from his bag of Doritos, he sighed wanting more cheesy crisps, sucking on his fingers to de-orange and de-cheese them, his eyes scanned over the message the blonde had sent.

**Armin: Where was your phone? I text you a few times, not to mention Jean’s probably sent you a lot too. Gosh, you should have come on at your usual time Marco. I could have done with the help.**

Folding out the bag, his eyes slipped over to the side seeing Jean still rambling at how poorly Marco’s communication skills are; eventually dying down to him saying he was going to grab some food and how he didn’t know how long that would take. Typing a quick reply to Jean (adding that Nina was an artist, and how stupid Jean could be for believing him), he tapped onto the chat with Armin again, his fingers swift to reply.

 ** Marco: ** **Sorry, I think I left my phone in my room. I lost track of the time since I was sucked into trying to complete some work. What happened?**

 ** Armin: ** **There was this really heated debate/argument between Jean and a few others. Some words were said which shouldn’t have been said. Two groups arguing? It equals a mess. Pretty tricky to follow as well, as there were around three things going on at once in it. Then having two pissed off guys messaging me, asking me to help wasn’t the best either. I didn’t want to get involved. I regret that though, seeing as they all agreed to just group chat. I have a really bad feeling about this Marco. What if they’ve got themselves into trouble? I’m sure they have. I just... Why don’t they just leave people’s opinions alone? Why do people just bait to get a bite?**

Eye widening at the block of text, he shifted so he was sitting up. Leaning forward, he placed his laptop more securely in his lap. Eyes scanning the words over and over again to see if he could figure out who was involved. Obviously one would be Jean, which made his stomach twist a little in unease. Jean could never leave things alone when it came down to innocent people being picked on. It was, as Marco had said plenty of times to himself, an instinct that Jean had. Sort of like an over protective friend or sibling.

But the others of the “group” Jean was involved with or the other, he really couldn’t figure them out. There’d be plenty of people he could list, yet to say for sure if it was them was a long stretch. He didn’t know if he could try to put names to it. He had tried to scroll down the posts but didn’t find anything. Nothing was on Jean’s wall either. Biting at his thumb he tried to think of the best way to respond to Armin.

It was most likely expected of him to ask Jean about it. But what could he say? If he asked it straight out it may work or his friend would probably blow up again in fury over whatever the topic(s) were. Rubbing his closed eyes, the throbbing pain had returned. With his brain trying to work on the situation at hand, it wasn’t a surprise it felt worse.

_A stressful day just got worse._

**Marco: Did you record down this argument Armin? **

**Armin: No... I didn’t get the chance to. One of them deleted the post as well I think. **

Well that explained why he couldn’t find the stupid thing to begin with. Discarding his laptop to the side, he stood from his seat, rubbish in hand and moved back into the kitchen. Throwing the packet in the bin, his fingers gripped the cool metal handle to one of the cupboards, opened it to brush his fingers along the packets, finally settling on some painkillers. Withdrawing the packet, he poured some water in a glass before making his way back into the living room. Before he was submerged in with the chat again he thought to go retrieve his phone from his room.

Returning back to the living, phone in hand, he sat cross legged on the sofa, placing the laptop before him on the other side of it.

 ** Marco: ** **Okay**

Popping out two pills, he gulped them down as he unlocked his phone to see around ten texts and three missed calls flashing on his screen. (Having missed calls from Jean was far worse than having missed calls from his mum.)

Flicking through the texts, Armins were just asking him to come online, another asked if he was okay, why hadn’t he come online at his usual time, that there was a thing happening. Jeans however, ranged from him asking what flavour ice-cream would be best to buy, the next said he needed Marco to go online earlier so he could ask more questions, gradually insults were sent, an ‘are you okay?’ was flung in too amongst them. After raging about a lot of nonsense it died off, the final message saying.

_“If you don’t reply to this within the minute, you’re gay.”_

Rolling his eyes at the immaturity, he placed the phone of the arm of the chair eyes sliding back to his laptop screen.

 ** Armin: ** **Sorry I’m not of much help Marco. I need to head off again to carry on with the research for one of my papers. I’ll talk to you later, yeah? Or if not see you Monday?** **  
**

** Marco: ** **Don't worry, you've helped enough by telling me. Okay. Well good luck with your paper.** **  
**

** Armin: ** **Thanks. Good luck with your work too.**

Shortly after the blonde had logged off, Jean had arrived back exclaiming that he had pizza and how he had hardly burnt it this time round.

 

A couple of hours passed with them playing games against one another, Jean complaining about the amount of work that he had done making his hands cramp and ache at times from the continuous writing.

**Jean: What the hell is that idiot thinking? **

**Jean: NO. **

**Jean: Why the- that dick.**  
  
 ** Jean: Why did he target my ground? **

**Jean: Urgh. I'm dead.** **  
**

**Marco: Ahh, he got you too?**

**Jean: YES. I didn’t even get revenge for you. Damn.**

**Marco: Ah well. It doesn’t matter. **

**Jean: Well of course it doesn’t to you. But I spent ages working on my things. **

**Jean: Ah shit, damn, well anyway I need to head off, it’s getting later. **

**Jean: I still need to get showered before i head off to bed. **

**Jean: Works going to kill me so much tomorrow. Stupid manger is going to run me into the ground. **

**Jean: Well goodnight gay face.**

**Jean: Yes, you’re gay. I remember you never replied to my text. **

**Jean: You’ll regret this Bodt.**

**Marco: Yeah yeah. Night.**

**Jean: Don’t forget to text me tomorrow okay, save me from my boredom.**

**Marco: Will do.**

**Jean: Gooood. Speak to you later.**

Before he replied or was spammed again from Jean, the boy had logged off, his icon turning grey.

Shutting the laptop down and placing it aside in its place on the table, he gathered his things flipping off the lamp. His art could sit on the table through the night; it wasn’t like anything was going to be in danger if he left it there. Or in the way.

Pouring himself some more water and clutching the pills tightly in hand, he shuffled his way over to the stairs, making sure every light was off and that the door was locked. His mum wouldn’t return until Monday afternoon. Another whole day without her. He could manage.

One step into his room and the cool air in there lingered about his ankles. Placing his glass and tablets on his dresser after kicking his door shut. His feet carried him over to the window, his breath cloudy it up as he leaned closer to catch sight of twinkling of stars as mists of clouds passed by.

Drawing the curtains, his hand reached to switch on his rooms lights. Watching the warm orange glow of the hundreds of tiny fairy light bulbs lit up, reflecting its colour onto the white surfaces in there.

Slipping out of his clothes (and placing his phone on his bed from his pocket), it was as if his skin breathed a sigh of relief. Grabbing a pair of shorts, he changed into them before popping another two pills and taking them.

Rubbing his temples, he got underneath his cover moving his phone beside him, heavy lidded eyes gazed up at the little lights. Turning onto his side, hand under pillow, his other extended out to flip the switch sending him into darkness. They were pretty and he wanted to gaze at them more but the pounding against his skull said otherwise.

As cool covers touched his warm skin, his body relaxed into the softness. As his mind was slowing down his thoughts, eyes becoming heavier, something seemed to touch his hair, brushing in. The touch sent a warm jolt through his body, the pounding behind his eyes ceased, as a deep sleep over took his body. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Slightly immature Jean there. Plus the thing Armin mentioned/said to Marco will play a big(-ish) role in a future chapter._  
>  _The artist Marco mentioned to Jean is Nina Smart. The art pieces are pretty cool in my opinion._
> 
>    
> Anyway, I'll work on the next chapter soon.  
> I hope this chapter is not too disappointing for those of you reading this and that I'm getting the characters across okay for you guys. 
> 
> ~if any mistakes are found in there, sorry. (it's 3 in the morning and i've literally just finished this.)


	6. Chapter 6

Jolting upright, his vision was blurry. Warmth emitting from his head ached, it ached so much. Had the tablets not worked? It seemed as if it was doubled now rather than being killed off.

 Sounds of wind picked up, making the hair that wasn’t plastered to his head with sweat, it ruffled covering his face. _Wind_? Had he not shut the windows?

Trying to lift his hand, he realised his body felt heavy. Like he was being weighed down more than he should have felt, like something was trapping him in place by being on top of him. Had he overslept? Oversleeping normally made him groggy, his body more sluggish.

Shifting his head from side to side, it protesting every time he tried, in the end it moved only to flop and hit something.

_Pain._

Burning pain shook his body. A scream clawed its way up his throat to be stopped at the tip of his tongue. No sound would emit. The only sound was a whimper which brushed its way out, draining some of his energy.

Even with the little energy he had, his teeth clamped. This was more than a headache. Far more than one.

A distant sound of shuffling caught his attention. It sounded sort of like gravel being moved about underneath a foot. The foot moving back and forth like someone was nervous and it was a habit that they had caught over time, not realising that they were doing so.

The sound began to grate on his nerves, making him ball his fits up, well he tried but his hands wouldn’t comply. From his attempt he just started to shake madly, unable to even process why he was unable to even lift his arms.

A harsh voice – seeming as if the person cursed – was heard, not long after footsteps began, drawing closer to him. Holding his breath, his lungs screamed at him to breath out, his heart leaping. The feet stopped in front of him abruptly, as other footsteps seemed to echo away from him. More words were being said. None of which he could pluck out and make sense of.

Marco wanted to open his eyes to see if his they had focused. A nagging thought at the back of his mind sent his stomach dropping. He knew a few things. One, he was no longer in his room. Two, he seemed to have been dragged into some situation. What situation though, he really couldn’t pinpoint. Three, he definitely should _not,_ under any circumstances, open his eyes.

A shriek of a panicked voice rose, calling out to someone, seemingly worried, upset over something. Another voice, lower yet seemingly soft, whispered out nonsense to them, gravel moving again as footsteps disappeared, faintly reaching his ears every so often. About to breathe again, something took him by surprise, nearly forcing out a response from him.

Something rested against his forehead, heavy, clammy skin touching his – the difference in temperate, in heat, nearly making him shake. Something like a hand clamped onto his shoulder, giving a firm squeeze – it was _almost_ familiar.

Two words, just two words reached his hearing, the only two things he was ever able to pick up and were audible for him.

“ _I’m sorry.”_  His stomach churned, dropping, bile rising in his throat. He _knew_ this voice. It was too familiar.

Pain seared his body, ripping a scream from his throat. It was unbearable. He needed to cut it away. Blinking his eyes furiously, they adjusted to the dark room around him. Light seeping in through his curtains, leaving patches on the wall and on his cover.

He was safe. He was back. He was in his bed.

Throwing his arms over his face, a sob racked out of him, his body shuddering.  A few tears tracked themselves down the sides of his face, running onto the pillow either side of him. Chest rising and falling at a rapid pace and his skin was clamming up. His forehead was burning, tingling almost. But it wasn’t a pleasant tingle. He wanted to claw at it, probably until it bled. He felt filthy.

The reason why he felt this puzzled him. He couldn’t remember anything; everything he had remembered began to dissolve as soon as the first sob escaped past his lips. With every sob more vanished. Nothing left except the burning throughout his body.

Here he was shaking and heaving from whatever it was – a nightmare most likely – yet for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what. The last nightmare he had, he couldn’t recall that clearly yet he knew it hadn’t left him this shaken. None of them had.

Few minutes passed by with his sobs breaking into the silence of the night. He drew his shaking arms away to his sides to push himself up, only to pull his legs closer to his chest, balling up in himself whilst his body shook still. Shuddering breaths escaped him, trying to regain his regular rhythm of his breathing.

Even trying to do so, to try to clear his mind with the thoughts of breathing in and out slowly, he couldn’t get a gnawing thought out of his mind that something bad had happened, something more than a bad dream.

Slipping his feet over the edge of his bed, one foot at a time touched the floor delicately, a little cautiously in case it crumbled and disappeared from beneath him. Bringing himself to his feet gradually, one hand came up grapping the hair on his right side unconsciously, tugging every so often as he sluggishly moved over to his door, clicking it open only to be faced with an eerily looking landing.

 Moving his hand from his hair to wrap across his torso, his left hand extended to the wall, skimming the cool surface in search for the switch. Reaching the bathroom door without finding the switch, his hand shakily reached into the darkness to find the chord dangling just inside.

Brushing across the chord, his hand went to pull on it when something dug into the flesh. Yanking the chord down quickly, he shoved his hand up to his mouth to muffle a whimper. His breathing quickened again, almost starting to hyperventilate – eyes squinting against the sudden change in lighting.

Glancing about himself hurriedly, he tightened the right hands grip on his torso allowing him to keep his left hand still in place muffling the sobs threatening to escape him. His back came up against the doorframe, body nearly buckled to the floor, his heavy weight leaning against the wood.

Straining his hearing to see if any other noises could be detected, his rapid breaths were the only thing there, not making him any more comfortable than he had hoped. He wasn’t even able to pick up the distant sound of the ticking clock. It seemed like hours had passed when his breathing finally got under control, his shaking was still.  

The dullness of the eco-friendly blub had warmed up to a brighter glow that his eyes had adjusted to.

Pads of flesh pattered across the cold tiles, giving him a shock as it struck up through his body, this time it was welcomed rather than cursed at. He needed to wake up more. Feet getting used to the cold, he stopped before the basin, running his hands underneath the cold tap. Water flowed over them, caressing them. Bringing his left hand up to his eyes to inspect, expecting something from the pain to show. Nothing. No mark was found.

Furrowing his brows he placed the hand back under the water for a moment before turning it off, damp hands reached up to rub against his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Moving over to the towel, hands lingered there in the soft warmth, not wanting to move them in fear that his shaking would start up again.

A prickling sensation rose up his spine, making the hair on the back on his neck stand. He was being watched.

Spinning around the light flickered, almost making him slip on the bathroom mat. Eyes scanned the doorway, only to see blackness. He almost believed he saw a flicker within them, but willed himself to ignore it, playing it off to a tired mind.

Stepping between the bathroom doorway, his left hand grabbed hold of the bottom of his shorts, plucking at it nervously. Giving a quick scan about the area, his right hand tugged at the chord sending him back into darkness. A couple long strides had him back into his room; he instantly went over to his flick on his lights.

Turing around a couple of times on spot in the illuminated room to make sure nothing lingered there. Nothing seemed to be lurking in the shadows. A cold chill breezed across the heated skin making him instinctively wrap his arms around his bare chest and try to suppress a shiver as goose-bumps rose to the surface.

Slipping his gaze from his arms up to his clock, it showed it was only three in the morning, making a groan come out.

_I’m missing out on precious sleep._

Opening a drawer, a hand retreated into it retrieving a top. Quickly closing the drawer and pulling the top on, he climbed back under the covers, sitting against the headboard. Resting his head back against the material, dim lights went in and out of focus as his mind began to wander, too awake to even begin to think about going back to sleep.

Eyes screwing shut for a few seconds, weight shifted on the bed as he leant over to grab a drawing pad from the floor and a pencil. He needed to distract himself and this was the only way he knew how.

Sitting back with a leg raised, he flipped the pad to a fresh page resting it upon his leg, pencil hovering and stroking the air in a pattern. Almost as if he was hesitating on the image he had thought up.

Scratching of lead against paper eventually tore its way into the air, the gentle soft strokes turning heavier, more pressure built behind each move. Hand moving across the paper seeking a different pencil, smudging the different strokes to blend and add effect; he became so drawn in on drawing the picture that when the loud noise of a tune blared out, his hand slipped a little creating a line that did not belong there.

Placing the pad and pencil down beside him, he stretched over, patting his hand about try to find a cold, smooth surface. Gripping his fingers around it, he rolled onto his back, flicking a button to see **~1 message~** displayed and noting the time. It was barely four in the morning, so he wasn’t sure as to who in their right mind would be awake at such an hour.

Stretching, his back gave out a loud crack before he settled again to swipe the screen to check who was up and pestering him at such an unholy hour. It was no surprise as to who it was though.

**Jean: Morning gorgeous**

**Marco: And a good morning to you too handsome**

Stifling a yawn, a hand automatically reached up rubbing an eye as his hand flopped to his side, yet before his hand hit the cover it sounded again, the message flashing up on screen.

**Jean: Can’t sleep?**

**Marco: Something like that. You?**

**Jean: eh. Same.**

Putting the phone on his forehead, his eyes gazed blankly up towards the ceiling unsure on how or what to type back. A vibration made him jump, sitting up allowing his phone to fall in awaiting hands on his lap. A smile pulling at the corners of his lips by the time the text loaded.

**Jean: Well princess, do you wish to keep me company on this lonesome night?**

**Jean: I could do with the.... distraction ;)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Wellll... I think that's a good point to stop this chapter, heh heh heh. I hope you liked it._  
>  (I really was hoping this chapter would be longer. tch.)  
>  _I apologise that this is up a little later than the other updates have been_  
>  _I will definitely start the next chapter and it'll possibly be up soon idk lets hope._  
>  _Finally, sorry once again and thank you for reading this. You're all great. ~Have a good day, stay safe._
> 
> I suck at notes but yeah I hope you guys are okay ~take care~ until my next terrible note aha
> 
> _if any mistakes are found, sorry_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm so, so, so terribly sorry that this is nearly an entire month late. At the beginning of this month my internet went off and currently right now we're moving house. I had tended to do a lot more for this chapter but I went blank and I had my entire room to pack and it was a mess, I had a lot to do. So I'm sorry this wasn't up sooner. But I've loaded some of the chapter to a good-ish point and I hope/plan to do more of this one soon (I didn't complete what I was planning to type up so it hasn't ended how I wanted it to, which sucks. But because I finally have internet I thought why not upload this).. End of ramble._
> 
> _Note: It's a chapter with Jean as the main focus (sort of)_

Rubbing his face in annoyance, he turned to his left to check his digital clock only to fall off to the right, smacking his head and back against the floor. 

Shouting out in pain, left hand stretched up trying to grip hold of something to help him pull himself up whilst trying to shift mid way to get onto his knees. Yet, even if he knew it was stupid, he still shouted out when the sheet slipped off, making him whack back against the floor.

 “For fuck sake” he muttered under his breath as a throb began to start pulsating. 

Rolling onto his stomach, he nearly got too comfortable in such a position with his right cheek squished against the carpet and his back not having pressure against it - he began gazing at the few objects littering the area. Making noises, he managed to get on his knees, popping his head over the edge of the bed. Squinting eyes scanned over top of his bed towards the clock which flashed two-fifty-seven-am.

How could he wake this early?

Groaning, his forehead lent against the side of the mattress, shifting his legs into an awkward position to get comfier. He really couldn’t be bothered to climb back up and bundled himself under the covers...

Well, now that he thought about it... it didn’t sound too bad being under the covers. Much more inviting than sitting there with his top lifting a tad, exposing his lower back and allowing the cold creep up his spine. With a shiver threatening to engulf his body, the heat being somewhat zapped out from him, he shifted again.

With his body heat disappearing, a groan made its way out. It was too damn cold. Wasn’t the heating on? Or was a window open?

Dead weight in his bladder suddenly seemed to grow, making one of his legs start to shake. Now, of all the times, he needed to pee. Great.

Shifting his weight he managed to get onto his knees. Gripping onto the bed, he slowly managed to stand. Turning towards the door, he yanked the handle open holding his breath – a habit he picked up from when he was little, always thinking as if something was in the darkness ready to grab him – before rushing into the living/kitchen room, flipping on a switch. Squinting against the harsh light, his eyes not yet adjusted, he darted into his bathroom with a relived sigh.

After he had finished and run his hands under nearly scalding hot water, he dried them not wanting the chill in the air to cling to that and freeze his hands further. Looking across to the mirror in the small-ish bathroom whilst patting the towel to his hands, his eyes widened a little seeing his hair stuck up in odd angles. Moving over to the mirror to get a closer look, Jeans head tilted side to side, trying to get a better look at the mess on his head. It was quiet impressive. Making a barely audible noise of how impressed he was with the mess, he gripped his hands together as he passed back into the main room of his flat.

It was only seconds before he slipped into his room, leaving the light on and his door open, just to drop face first into his pillows. Twisting and turning before finally being able to yank the cover over himself, a shiver passing through his body from the contact of a warm body to cold sheets.

Minutes passed where he had balled up under the cover to try to gain more warmth, however there seemed to be no change in temperature. Sitting up and huffing, he drew back pulling the cover with him to come to the headboard.

Passing his eyes over things in his room briefly, they glanced at a corner longer, squinting to see if he could see it clearly. Whatever _it_ was, he didn’t know. Brushing it off he passed the corner, eyes landed on his radiator. Was it on, or wasn’t it? He remembered putting it on low for the night. Was it too low for a night? It shouldn’t be, it was only autumn, not winter.

Flipping his cover back, he uncurled himself and made his way over to the radiator. Taking in a breath, he held it in as his hand placed upon it, releasing the breath just as quickly when it came in contact. It was cold. Feeling further down, there was no warmth. Leaning back on his heels, he glared at the thing.

“What the hell.” Muttering, he moved toward the light on the other room, feeling that radiator as well. Cold and it was the same with the bathrooms one too.

Facing one of the doors in the illuminated main room now, one leg started tapping in place. He knew that this little hallway was going to be freezing and more so than the rooms he had just been in. Opening the door, he ran a hand along the wall waiting to hit the switch, allowing the dim glow to guide him to the dial which controlled the heating. It was still on, switched to a decent heat. But the radiators didn’t seem to be following the orders from the dial.

Tapping it with his finger, he hurried out of the hallway, away from the front door and back into the _warmer_ room. Hah. That was laughable.

Glancing at the clock hanging on the wall, it was ten-past-three, hardly a good time to be awake. Yet here he was, feeling wide awake (still).

Grabbing a jumper to pull over his top for more warmth – there wasn’t much he could change about his bottom half as some pyjama trousers were already covering them; though the thought of having his other loungewear trousers on was more appealing, he couldn’t be bothered to strip to change into them, they’d be cold.

Clicking the kettle on, it was hopeless for him to try to sleep now. Maybe that nap during the day yesterday wasn’t the brightest idea he had had. Leaning against the countertop, his eyes gazed out to the room landing on his desk that had two piles of paper stacked on. One was finished work; the other was work he needed to do. Thankfully, he had done most yesterday.

The rumble and click of the kettle announced that it was boiled. Pouring the water onto the coffee, he wrapped his hands around the mug, he dragged his feet past the sofa up to the desk. Spinning around in the chair, he stopped eyes glancing over the work he had done then moved his sight up to the chart he had made to keep track of what work was given to him. Blowing into the drink, warm steam coated his face before he placed it down, eyes scanning across the checked off work.

Biting his lip, he looked once more before grabbing the complete pile and placing it onto the coffee table by the sofa and arm chair.

Flicking through the pile he had done, he started to talk aloud to himself, going over things once more.

“So this lessons work set is complete, along with this section which will be added onto it later on when the rest is complete in Wednesday’s session. Hmm but... this folder for sport is complete as much as it can be. Right? I don’t think there’s more I can do until the next set work. But then this work is still incomplete, but she said it’d be fine; I could go ask questions in one of my free periods. Then over here on the desk,” shuffling his way back to the chair, he plopped down, sorting it out into two piles. “These two here... This one needs the fifth section done before Tuesday and this one,” tapping a finger to it, his eyes went back to his list, “needs amendments done to it, which will be done quickly before the due date on Friday. Yeah? Is that right?” tilting his head to the right, he awaited to see if there would be a reply to him.

Spinning, a laugh blew past his lips. Only briefly though. Who was he trying to fool? Himself? Of course no one would reply. No one was there to hear him talking to himself or reply to the rhetorical questions he fired. _Thankfully._

Smile falling off his face, he slumped down in the chair glancing that the two pieces of work. Could he be bothered to do the work now or not?

“Of course you should,” he breathed out, “you’ll have more work piled onto you during the upcoming week. You may as well get these little bits out of the way. Okay? Okay.”

Grabbing hold of his drink with one hand he stood to go retrieve a few things before he set off to work. The coffee burning its way down his throat into his stomach warmed him, a small smile playing at his lips.

Placing his iPod into the docking thing, he placed it on shuffle as he went back to his desk to get on with the work. As an acoustic song began, he took one more swig of his drink before diving into the closest bit of work, pushing the other aside.

Scratching of pen on paper, pages of books being flipped with the selection of songs playing took up the flat. His pen began to slow down as he was coming to a close on the last paragraph. Giving it an occasional tap against his lower lip or the desk as he searched for a certain word to use or see if he was wording his sentences correctly.

With the final full stop dotted down, he placed the pen down, shuffling the papers back into their correct order. Raising his arms up in the air, he pushed back away from the desk and jumped up strumming the air along with the guitar riffs. As the song came to a close, his arms fell beside him as he glanced about the room. He’d done both pieces thankfully.

Grabbing the mug, he made his way back to the kitchen pulling a face as he took one last gulp from it’s now cold liquid. Pouring the rest down the sink, his eyes trailed over to the clock to see it was nearly four in the morning now. Washing it quickly, he dried it and put it away before returning back to the piles of paper, sorting them out again. There was nothing else he could do, or well, what he could be bothered to do.

As a cold chill past through him, he scratched the back of the neck as his eyes moved across the room, feeling as though someone was watching him. It didn’t feel pleasant. However as expected, no one was there. What did he expect? Someone to be standing there with a grin plastered on their face?

He was alone here. No one would be there. Even if he did crave for someone to keep him company.

Moving through the room, he shut of his iPod and flicked the switch off only to turn the light in his bedroom on. Bundling himself up in his cover, he secured it so only his face was poking out from his sitting position. Ears plugged with earphones, letting the music lull him into a dazed state, almost as if he was ready to sleep. Eventually, Jeans breathing slowed down, evening out as he drifted in and out of sleep.

Jolting awake, ears ripping out of silent earphones, it seemed as if a chill snuck its way into his cocoon of warmth. Shifting position, he fell forward in a heap and grabbed onto his phone, something felt wrong. His heart was hammering. Had something happened?

Holding his phone close to his chest, he rolled onto his back looking up at the ceiling. He held his phone up and tapped in his password, praying his grip to not loosen, he didn’t want his phone smacking into his face.

Scrolling through his contacts, Jean automatically stopped on one, his finger hovering over it unsure. Could he be awake? Or would he wake him up?

Clicking onto the name and selecting the message option, Jeans fingers typed in a quick message before hitting send.

Was that the right thing to do? _Of course not, he’s most likely asleep. I’ve probably been an idiot and woke him up. Oh god, he’s going to hate me._

A chime broke through his internal monologue, allowing his eyes to snap and see it flashing, the icon indicating a new message. Clicking onto it, to message flashed up, showing off his friends reply.

**Marco: And a good morning to you too handsome**

Snorting, he had to give Marco credit for playing along at such a stupid hour. It didn’t stop him from thinking if he woke him up or not. Trying to think of a way to ask subtly if he had or not his fingers threw out, tapping onto letters and sending it before he could read over the two words he had typed.

**Jean: Can’t sleep?**

_Not bad._ Before he could think over it more Marco instantly replied.

**Marco: Something like that. You?**

**Jean: eh. Same.**

Tapping his phone to his chin, he gazed upward, warmth taking over his body. It was some sort of contact. It was _comforting_ to him. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who needed to comfort though. Being awake at this hour wasn’t uncommon for him, but Marco? Marco is able to sleep fine, with no issues. Was something worrying him? Or did he have a nap too?

 _No, the one napping is_ you _, you idiot. Marco doesn’t_ nap.

Trying to sit up, Jean only managed to roll over as his fingers began typing again; uncomfortable on how he had gave a dead end response, trying to lighten the mood back up.

**Jean: Well princess, do you wish to keep me company on this lonesome night?**

**Jean: I could do with the.... distraction ;)**

The more he read over what he sent, the more his eyes either bugged out, or cringed at his idiotic words.

“Oh god. What? No. Jean, for Christ sake. Be normal. Can you just be normal for once? No, of course you can’t, it’s too much to ask. Wow. Oh god. Marco’s going to run for the hills. He’s going to ignore me. No no no no. Who in their right mind would say that? ” voice raising slightly, his arms flung up in the air as his phone landed on his stomach.

_But it’s not incorrect either. It is somewhat true._

Laughing an un-humorous laugh he threw his arms over his eyes. Jean began to rock from side to side, biting at his lip. Did he really have to say such a thing?

Well yeah, he did. This was Jean. He was talking to Marco. Marco will be fine with it.

Grabbing his phone with his left hand, his right arm shifted so he could peek at it. Three minutes. Three minutes had passed and no reply.

_Marco hates me. He thinks I’m a freak. He’ll never talk to me again. He can get a better friend than me. One less weird._

As thoughts like those ran around, he placed the phone back onto his stomach, trying to suppress the dying noise clawing up his throat.

However, the dying noise changed when he felt the vibration before the chime of a text came through, making him fumble with the phone. Heart hammering and mind still screaming at him for what an idiot he was, Jean was hesitating on bringing up the text.

Tapping one thumb against the ‘view’ option, his other hand covered his face, debating on whether to allow his eyes to peek between his fingers or not.

Slowly creeping his fingers apart and slipping a peek at the screen. A sigh of relief passed his lips as he dragged his hands down it, slapping his cheek twice to reassure himself he was awake.

**Marco: But Sir... I am afraid I am not worthy company for a gentleman such as yourself.**

**Marco: Plus I cannot think of something to help distract you.**

**Marco: Do you have any preference of choice?**

A relieved smile spread across his face as he read over the reply again. He hadn’t been a total idiot with his message then.

How could he forget his friend was just as weird?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _and there you have my attempt at a Jean angle chapter thing. I hope he's not ooc. (plus if it's a bit all over the place I -well I have no excuse. If you see any mistakes, tell me? I truly hope there isn't any)._
> 
>  
> 
> ~I shall just say that I know Christmas is a few days away still, but I hope you all have a lovely day and enjoy it. Also a Happy New Year to you all too if I still haven't got internet by then. (excusing me hopefully going on my dads on boxing day and catching up with other bits)
> 
> Stay safe. I'll see you guys in the next update - most likely in the new year - and hopefully have a lot more typed up for the next chapter. Yey.  
> I really do ramble on when I'm tired. woops.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello guys! I've been terrible, I know. It's been over a month. I really thought this would have gone better for me. Sorry_

Sunday for Marco and Jean was spent with texts being sent between them. The texts either included them picking on the other, to them just having a casual talk. It was also if Jean could sneak in a text before the floor manager caught him or Marco wasn’t too immersed in his art pieces to notice his phone flashing and buzzing.

Monday and Tuesday went by in a blur, both barely having time to focus on anything other than their subjects. At home it was followed up by working ruthlessly and crashing wherever, usually before they even managed to climb all the way under their covers.

Though Jeans nights were far better compared to Marcos. Marco sometimes only managing an hour or so before suddenly waking. Itching.  Skin crawling. Almost as if someone were in his room, watching his every breath.

~

Come Wednesday morning, Marco stood in front of the steamed up mirror, cold droplets dropping down his back from his wet hair.

Where he should be shivering, Goosebumps covering his body from where the air being touched the skin which was just warmed by hot water. _Yeah, the Goosebumps are from the cold. Keep thinking that._

His eyes seemed to go in and out of focus. Something wasn’t right. It had been niggling at him all night and morning. Now though, now that he could see his reflection, it seemed almost as if it should be in a horror film. He wished that he was dreaming. That he never saw this.

Moving a shaky hand to his face, he froze watching as he changed again, the colour draining even more from his face. Almost as if he were a corpse.

It seemed as if hours had passed before he snapped back out and touched the right side of his face, feeling that it was still there. No warm liquid covered his fingers as he dragged them down his face and held them in front of his eyes. The only sensation was barely damp skin.

Breathing out heavily, his shoulders sagged.

“It’s just the nightmare. It was just a bad dream. Nothing more... nothing less.” _Right?_

Rubbing his eyes, he quickly left the bathroom, stumbling slightly into his room. His vision showing blood everywhere he looked. A blink, blood covered walls, blink again and it’s gone.

“Just your mind Marco, just your imagination.” He muttered. “Ignore it.”

Slowly he began to pat the towel over his body, hardly paying attention to see if it was okay before pulling on his underwear and beginning to dress himself for school.

With his trousers on and his fingers ached from just those few movements.

Fumbling with the deodorant, he managed to put some on without dropping the can.

Slipping his arms through the shirt sleeves, his hands dropped to his side, not wanting to work much more. They were tired. He felt drained.

His hands felt cold – almost as if frozen – which to him was odd. Watching his hands and he turned them, trying to see if he could see anything wrong with them. Nothing obvious showed. They looked normal.

 Glancing up, he caught sight of himself in the mirror hanging on his wall. He looked like the living dead. Clenching his teeth in frustration of feeling so exhausted, his hands balled into fists, loud cracks from his knuckles sounding out. Almost as if they were breaking.

“Get a grip.”

Turning from the mirror, his sight went to the buttons and then to his hands.

_It shouldn’t be that hard. It’s easy every other day. Today’s no different._

Uncurling his hands, Marco watched as they shakily tried to button his shirt up. _Why was he feeling this numb?_

As the buttons were successfully done, Marco began taking his time with the rest of his uniform. Even if it took him hours, he’d still do it.

Finally fully changed, even managing to pull his socks on, he slipped his phone off the side and made his way toward his door.

Clicking is to a gentle close behind himself, Marco made his way down the stairs, randomly clicking a button on his phone to check the time.

Rather than making his way to the kitchen, he walked over to the sofa and flopped himself down, resting his elbows on his knees just staring into space. Yet lately, being by himself was never good. Thoughts began to swirl around. Making him nervous. Something was following him.

_You’re being stupid Marco. Nothing is following you. **Of course something is following you. You were touched!** It’s just your mind playing tricks. **Of course it’s not. Something or someone grabbed you.** No one did. **Yes, they did.**_

It was almost as if a little angle and devil were beside him, whispering stuff to try to make him think. Yet nothing processed. When he thought of sleeping, a shiver would run through his body. Obviously not wanting to re-live the dreams he’s been having. When he thought of school a headache would form. The amount of work being piled onto them was getting out of hand. Too many artists to look up; too many books to read for his English class; it was getting ridiculous. His favourite subjects shouldn’t be giving him a headache. But school is school. Its a pressure ground. Seeing how much they can pile on you before you snap. Have a breakdown.

He swore he saw a boy last year just sitting in a corner of the library, nearly in tears as his hands fisted at his hair, looking at the piles of paper and books about him at a loss.

Marco said to himself he’d never get to that stage. _Never again at least_.

Standing from the sofa, he slowly made his way over to his bag, checking to see if everything for his art lessons and studying material for his other lessons were inside. study sessions were killer if you forgot something.

As he began shifting through the papers inside, Marco came to a stop.

_Blood._

Inhaling deeply, he stood back against the wall, holding his right arm out in front.

Three raps at the door snapped him out from staring at his hand. Glancing at the door then to the clock hanging on the wall, he realised it was gone seven already, just about time Jean got there.

Slipping on his shoes, he grabbed his bag off the side and his scarf off the peg and opened the door only to see no one there, just a gust of wind blowing at him. Popping his head out the door, he glanced left and right. Nope. No Jean.

Slipping back inside, he shut the door to a close and placed his bag back down.

_Maybe it’s your mind again Marco._

Giving out a sigh, he went to hang his scarf back up as a warm breeze blew against his neck, almost as if someone was behind him breathing down his neck.

Glancing from the corner of his eye toward his shoulder, he couldn’t see anyone there. Slowly turning his head and body, he held his breath, only to be greeted with a blank space unsurprisingly.

“Maybe, just maybe Marco, you need to go to the Doctors.” He muttered as he lent back against the little table there, hand steadying him. "Lack of sleep can drive yo insane."

Pinching the bridge of his nose with the other, another sigh blew past his lips, feeling drained of energy.

“Or maybe you need to see Anna again.”

Rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he stood up when another three raps came from the door. Glancing up the stairs to make sure his mad mother wasn’t standing there, crazy bed hair an all, he made his way over to the door.

Opening it slowly was apparently not the best idea. Someone on the other side was being impatient and pushed it open, stepping in too quickly for Marco to react so he stumbled back a few steps, nearly toppling over until a hand stretched out and caught his arm.

“Whoa... Sorry.” Ensuring Marco was steady, Jean hesitantly let go, patting Marco twice on the arm before scratching the back of his neck. “It’s just, it’s cold out there. “

“It’s fine.”

Looking at his friend, he had to stifle a smile.

So maybe it wasn’t his mothers’ crazy bed hair he had to worry about, but Jeans.

“Um, Jean...”

Looking up from rubbing his hands together furiously, Jean blinked dumbly at Marco, hands frozen mid-rub. “Yeah...?”

Pointing a finger to his own hair, Marco managed to say “Your hair is a little, uh... messy.”

“...I have bed hair?”

Nodding at Jeans blank face, he slowly saw it contort and change into a horrified expression.

“I have bed hair!” Jean voice raised as his hands shot up, patting at it madly.

“Oh fuck, I walked here with crazy arse hair. Marco! I walked here with bed hair!” Grabbing hold of Marcos arms, he began to shake him as his hair bounced back up into a worse state than it first was.

Raising his left hand to his mouth, he had to stop the laughter from spilling out.

“Marco. This is bad. Real bad. I knew it, I just _knew_ it.”

He withdrew his hands and began to rub his jaw, pacing almost.

“What did you know?”

Spinning to face Marco, Jean mumbled.

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken a shower before I went to bed. Jesus Christ, clever one Jean, clever one.” once again the pacing continued.

Slipping away upstairs from a muttering Jean, he slipped into his bedroom, pulling out one of the top drawers and retrieving the object he was after.

Padding down the stairs, Marco had to freeze halfway down as a dizzy spell overtook him. Finally out of the light head state, he carried on his way down to find Jean in the kitchen.

Water droplets were scattered on several areas of his hair and he tried to furiously neaten it.

“Here,” extending the object out towards his friend, Marco watched as Jean slowly recognised what it was before he took hold of it.

Jean began to pull the comb through it, catching a knot and swearing as it ‘nearly yanked his brain out’.

Watching Jean was amusing but as Marco took a slight glance at the clock, he drew in a breath and plucked the comb out of his friends hand and began to work on it himself.

“We’re going to be late, Jean.”

“Huh?”

Taking a glance at Jean, his eyes were closed, almost as if he were relaxing.

“Are you even listening?”

“Um...yes?”

Swatting the comb to Jeans forehead, Marco placed it down before making his way to grab his things.

“Come on. If we don’t hurry, we won’t make it.”

Opening the door, Marco gestured for Jean leave.

“Alright, alright. I just like my hair being played with...” he muttered the last part as he slipped out of the door. “Does my hair look good now?” patting a hand to his hair, he made his way over to a car to glance in a mirror.

Shutting the door to a close, Marco rolled his eyes at Jeans behaviour.

Spinning around to reply to his friend, his throat closed, all words having fled his mind.

This... this was not his street...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _First of all, **Happy New Year** to you all. I hope it's been great to you all so far._
> 
> _Again, I apologise this is late. I wrote it out around 5 times, all being different. If I'm honest, I'm still not all that happy with it, but it will work (I hope). This chapter was the best I got over this last month._  
>  _To me, it kept feeling as if whatever I typed was too rushed. Ah well. We'll stick with this chapter._
> 
> ~Errors/mistakes may be within this chapter, I'm sorry if there is.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> focuses on Jeans day.

“It’s all good now, right?” he murmured as he still flicked bits here and there, trying to get it _just_ right.

Frowning at his reflection in the cars window, he spun around at the lack of response. Part of him was waiting to see Marco halfway down the road, grinning back at him like a dork. Though there wasn’t that in his sight; The only things being the cars parked along, with the light breeze blowing some leaves around. Staring at the empty path, his brow furrowed a little more.

_He...he wouldn’t run...Would he?_

Seeing movement in the corner of his eye – and with his stupid way – he spun, hands raised in a pose of a comic karate positioning. Relaxing his arms and hands, he blew out a half laugh.

“You were the one going on about being late. So what’s the hold up?”

Not even an inch of movement was indicated.

“Marcoooo...”

Moving forward, Jean leant sideways to see if he could catch a glimpse of his friend, who was still facing the front door with his head slightly hung.

“If you don’t feel well, just go back in and rest. Have a sick day. Huddle under a blanket and watch films. Now that sounds better than school.”

Hesitantly stepping towards Marco, he stretched a hand out and placed it on the shoulder closest to him. The instant jump that came from the contact had him back away quickly; raising his hands up, Jean scanned a paled face that was usually tanned. It looked so scared and frightened; his usual warm, friendly aura wasn’t there.

“It’s okay. It’s just me.”

The sudden burst of fast footsteps towards him had Jean nearly falling down after tripping over his own feet.  Marco had came right up to him, face mere inches from his, his eyes scanning hurriedly over Jeans face, down his body and back up.

 “Um Marco... a little space?”

Ignoring him, it seemed as if Marco inched closer, his warm breath fanning over Jeans face. Awkwardly, Jean glanced sideways unsure what to do, his teeth latching onto his bottom lip, one of his stupid nervous ticks.

Seconds ticked by and Jean still wasn’t sure what Marco was doing. Or better yet, what _he_ should do.

“Marco... maybe you should-”

The sudden knock over his head had him blinking and looking up at Marco. Well where he thought Marco was.  

Spinning from the vacant space to where the sound of laughter was coming from, he caught sight of Marco halfway down the road already, grinning back at him.   _What a dork_.

“You’re going to be late, Jean.” He called back as he disappeared around the corner. 

Looking about himself, Jean wasn’t quite sure what just happened. Marco did look ill right? He wasn’t just imagining things? A mind trick?

Brushing it to the back of his mind for the moment, he glanced at the time before rushing after Marco.

Fuck, if he got a late slip he’d be so screwed in his classes. _One_ loser would never let it go. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself to run a little faster.  _Hell that was going to happen._

-

All the way there Marco was ahead of him to the point where he gave up and began to stroll on his own. If his friend was laughing, that’s all that mattered.

Emerging out of the trees, Jean noted that the students about where running for the gate, looking a tad scared.

Ignoring the vibration of his phone, he quickly crossed the road and cut across the grass, praying not to slip. 

Stumbling onto the path, his ears caught sound of a booming voice coming from the gate. Lifting his head slowly, he cringed seeing who was on duty today. _No wonder they’re running for their lives._ His feet began to slow and he debated whether or not he should just turn and go somewhere else today. 

Before his feet started to turn, something ran into the back of him, sending them both onto the ground, which caused him to scarp his hands and knock his knees a little too hard. Groaning, he shifted to a sitting position, rubbing the dirt out of the cuts on his hands.

“What’s your problem?” He snapped out, “Thanks to you, I probably can’t practice today.” Directing his annoyance to the culprit, it was quickly wiped off with a quick roll of his eyes. Lifting himself up of the ground, he watched as the mess of brown hair gathered up their bits.

“Come on, we’re going to be late.” _If we’re not already_. Grumbling the last part mentally to himself. Giving a quick look back to the gate – wincing each time he heard to voice shouting at the poor students scurrying in now – he glanced back at the brunette, who had magically managed to collect their items which had scattered. Jumping up to their own feet, they faced him with a grin on their face.

“I knew it was you! Oh my god.”

Smiling a little, he extended a hand. “Yeah yeah. Need a hand with anything?”

“Nope, I’m good. The bag ripped when I tried to jump on your back.” Glancing at the stuff in their hands, their brown eyes shot back up to him still smiling. Until they slid past him to the gate, the smile vanished. “Do we have to go in?”

Trying to hide his smile at the sudden changed in facial expressions that he hadn’t seen for a while, his eyes landed on the hideous thing at the gate. “Unfortunately we do. I was planning to run away though.”  

“I vote to run.”

Before they could speak further- well before Jean could accuse the brunette for being the one at fault for being unable to run – the man had spotted them. “Kirstein!” the voice boomed out making him hunch in on himself.

“ _Fuck._ ”  Jeans hand reached out and held onto the elbow near him. “You’re not running and ditching me.” He whispered, just enough to hear a snort as they started toward the gate.

“Sir.” Jean spoke up as they drew closer to the man.

“You’re late.” He spat. “ _Both_ of you.” he directed his eyes to the side of Jean.  “Kirstein. Braus. Why are you both late?” moving his face closer, Jean had a hard time not gagging at vile breath swamping over him. Invading his poor poor nose. He’d have to cut it off and burn it later.

“Well, Mister Shardis, I was sent over to campus from another campus-school place, you know how big this school branches out.” Sasha rambled out, still standing with her items piled in hand. Her eyes didn’t meet the teachers, she just kept them secure on the wrappings.

Turning on her, he glanced at the pile and bit out the question as to what they were. “Food, sir.” Was her quick reply “It’s for a project. Jean offered to help and someone ran into us, sending it all flying, with us, onto the floor.”

Giving both of the students a brief glance up and down, he tore out a pad and ripped a slip for both, “Medic slip. Hurry and go there. You’re both excused for being late today. This is a one off, understand?” shifting his eyes briefly to the two students, he saw the nod of their heads before glancing back to the pad, “I won’t do this again. Just never be late again otherwise I’ll double it. I’ll log you both in manually.” Tearing them off, he held the slips out.

“Yes sir,” taking both of their slips, Jean stuffed them into his pocket, “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you in class, Kirstein.” He called after them and they moved hurriedly past him onto the path. Nodding back to the man, he looked away once the teacher went back to scanning the area in front of the school. _Good luck to them._

Once they were far enough in they both let out a long breath and laughed a little as they caught sight of one another.

“Damn, his breath reeks.” Shuddering, Jean glanced down at himself, his hands weren’t too bad, but his trousers weren't torn a lot and he could see some bleeding through the little tears.

Glancing at Sasha, something got in the way of his sight.

“Mint?”

Looking at his hands, he extended one slowly. “Thanks.”

“Ew, no. Open your mouth. Your hands are filthy.”

Stopping and opening his mouth hesitantly, Sasha stretched up and popped the mint from the wrapping into his mouth. Screwing the wrapper, she threw it in the bin they past, along with hers. “You owe me.”

“Yeah, okay, sure. Where’s the food gone?”

“Magic.” She said as the final word before silence settled over them for a while. Both lost in their own thoughts. As they continued on their way, another teacher passed them giving them both a disgusted look.

Looking behind her and then towards Jean, he raised an eyebrow at her mischievous grin. Giggling, she glanced back once more, her hand moving out to take hold of Jeans sleeve.  Breathing in, she raised her voice, “What’s up, Dok?” in her best attempt at a bugs bunny voice.

Clamping a hand over his mouth, Sasha yanked on his sleeve, pulling him into the trees; her own laughter erupted around them, echoing through the trees. Stopping at a larger looking tree, she left go of the sleeve and hunched over, trying to gain her breath.

 “God, I’ve missed this campus.” Lifting her head up still in the hunched position, her hair fell over part of her face, “But where I am is great.” She sighed. “I miss you guys.” Standing up, her head titled towards the tops of the trees, a faint smile graced her lips.

“We’ve missed you too. Especially a certain someone.” Leaning against a tree, he watched a slight blush coat her cheeks, before she made her way over to stand beside him.

“Aww, you missed me eh?”  Bumping her hip into him, he stumbled sideways a little. “I missed him too.” She said seriously before breathing in deeply and charged at him, tackling him further into the wooded area. Unfortunately, both of them fell to the ground... _again._

“God, you’re annoying.” He huffed out, with her weight on top of him. Looking at her stretched out across his chest - he couldn’t quite work out how she had managed to stretch out over his chest, in that position.

Sitting back on her knees – using his chest to push herself back – she tapped at his forehead, “But you love me for it.” She started to scramble back up, extending a hand for him to take. Ignoring the hand, he hauled himself up, smirking at the sight of twigs in the girl’s messy hair.

“Wait, since when did you cut your hair?” he blurted without thinking.

“Hah? It’s cut?” Staring blankly at him, she took hold of a strand and then at him. “Oh. A while back. Yours has grown.” Going onto her tiptoes, she messed it up and through that action, dislodged the leaves and twigs which were in his hair. Picking the few pieces from her hair, he thought over what she said.

“Has it really grown?”

Shaking her head, she took hold of his hand and pulled him towards the path, “Yeah, only a little.”

Scrambling back onto the path, they walked to the closest medical room with mainly Sasha talking about her new classes on the other campus after reassuring Jean his hair wasn’t too long.

-

Holding the door open, he waited for Sasha to exit the room.

“So, why are you here? You never said.”

“Ah-hah. You’ll have to wait until lunch. I’ll announce it then. Now shoo, off to your lesson.”

“Be careful. Don’t go hurting other people now.”

“Funny.” She called after his retreating back. “Don’t forget to hurry along to class now.”

Silence finally covered him after the echo of her loud voice died down. It was peaceful. Calming. Off in the distance was the muffled noise of classes talking, teachers speaking, the office phones ringing and printers working.

No one was out walking about but him. Which was a relief; he really wouldn’t want anyone seeing him in his hobbling state.  Seriously, she made him get a twisted ankle. Sighing, he glanced at the slight grazes on his hands, before he slipped out of a side door; walking across several small pathways which were shortcuts, he made it to the field his class usually done whatever was asked of them. Scanning the students on the field, he couldn’t see any of his class, so he made his way into the main building, giving a slight nod towards the teachers in the office.

Passing several classes, he glanced through each door, not seeing his class. None were loud either, however the more he walked down the hall, the louder a group seemed to become. Sighing, he stopped and stood in front of a wooden door, which was barely able to keep the noise of the students inside from leaking out.

Gripping the handle, a blast of noise assaulted his ears through the tiny gap he had opened it. Peering inside, the scuffle of loud boisterous morons in the open space made him almost run right back down the hallway and across campus. Gripping the handle tighter, he made his way in, sitting at the back so no one caught sight of him. Sighing again, he placed his bag underneath the chair and lent back, trying to make sense of what they were doing.

Seeing a black blur moving towards him, he quickly looked sideways only to see it was the assistant trainee teacher handing him work. He explained what the class was doing and then also handed him some paper and a book.

“You can go to the classroom where you guys usually write up things, Shardis said it’d probably be helpful for you to do section 3, but also I think you should scan through section 5e. Also this sheet here is key words you need to search up. Once you’ve done all that, hand it to either Shardis, who should be in the office later; or me, I’ll be in here later or if you’re done before then I’ll be on the field with the class as they’ve already completed a brief outline of work from this.”

Thanking the trainee teacher, he slipped his bag over his head. Flicking through the papers, he made his way back out through the door. _How boring._

Back down the hall, he glanced into the classroom beside the office. Luckily for him, no one else seemed to be in here. Making his way in, he picked a random table, throwing his bag onto the top and lifted a chair off the stack.

Two hours passed by with him either scanning the pages, jotting notes down in his pad, sighing or pacing about the classroom, stretching and to help his brain work a bit more. (Was the plan.)

Shifting in his seat at the computer, he rounded off his page, giving a quick scan through the work he had completed before hanging his head back and rubbing at his eyes. Rolling his head sideways he glanced at the other information he had hand written, seeing the neatly outlined sections and the different colours indicating different sections.

Pulling one of his earphones out, he sat up and reached to the side for his bag; bringing out his folder, he flicked through it to find his tick sheet, and began crossing out notes he had jotted down around the edges. Being able to complete a piece of work and some additional notes was good enough for him, a little satisfying. It felt like some weight lifted from his shoulders, even if it was only temporary. Hitting the save button, he added it to his memory stick before logging off and glancing at the clock. He still had far too much time before lunch. 

In his boredom, Jean placed all the chairs in their spaces by the tables or in front of the computers and sorted the blinds out so they were all neat.

With his belongings back in his bag, he gathered the work papers that were spare and the book before grabbing his printed off work to hand in. One last look around the room had him nodding satisfied with the way he was leaving it for whoever was next to use the room. Now was the task of either edging into the office to Shardis or going to hunt down the assistant. Both felt like too much of a hassle.

Thankfully, Jean didn’t have to even bother finding them as the assistant made his way over and took the work, effectively dismissing Jean to lunch.

 -

As Jean made his way back across campus, towards where they all usually sat for lunch, he was going to savour the last of the quiet before the barrel of noise. How unfortunate for him. A blur off the to the right of him caught his attention, halting his movements.

“Jeeeeean!”  _thump_. Wincing at the impact, he glared down at the idiot.

“Do ya mind?”

“Nope.” Receiving a toothy grin, Jean huffed and pushed the crew cut boy away from him, ignoring the protests of the shorter male. “Oh, come on! I waited for you.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Jean carried on, knowing full well Connie would once again charge at him. Seriously, what was up with those two doing that to him? Sasha’s back, they can charge at one another again now, rather than targeting him. Still, a smile tugged at his lips as Connie once again ran up to him, trying to jump onto his back.

“I swear to god, get off my back. What are you?” glancing at him with a raised eyebrow, “A monkey?”

Tapping a finger to his chin, Connie thought about it before sticking his thumb up. “Yup. I could very well be a monkey.”

“You freak.”

"You love that about me."

Within the few minutes it had taken the pair to walk to the area they usually sat – at one point Jean tried to escape when Connie was stopped by some older students, but to no luck – Connie had practically gossiped to the point where Jean was sure his ear was going to drop off. Though he wasn’t complaining at what he was told. Yet, seriously, how did he find out such information? Jean sometimes swore Connie should be a spy, or do undercover work. He always, no matter what, had gossip on people, be it a minor detail or a major, he knew. There was no hiding. Maybe the guy had hid cameras everywhere. Who knew?

Eventually arriving at the table, the only other company was a very awkward looking Bert, who was across the area, standing oh-so-awkwardly in a corner looking about helplessly.

Jean shrugged it off, not bothering to gain the lanky brunettes attention to come over. Last time he went to help Bert when he looked uncomfortable, Jean had unfortunately made the guy more uncomfortable to the point where Reiner was chasing JEan around the grounds the next day, asking what the hell had had done to his friend. ( _Even though Jean is somewhat better friends with Bert now than he was then. He supposed)._ How was he supposed to know the guy had serious anxiety issues? Social anxiety? (Or whatever it was that he had.) Thankfully, Bert had learned to trust the others by now, so no one else was in danger of Reiner going ape shit at them.

Retrieving his card, he placed his bag on his usual seat and stood waiting for Connie. He watched with amusement as the short boy raced up to the nervous wreck, waving animatedly to get his attention. Once he had, he managed to coax the taller guy out of the corner and to walk with him to the table, talking less erratically to him than he had with Jean.

Finally as they arrived at the table, Jean watched as Connie dived to his seat and rummage about for his own card. Glancing at the nervous mess, Jean noted he had calmed down a little and stretched an awkward smile on his face when Bert looked at him. As usual the brunette glanced back down and slipped into his own seat a few seats down from Connie. Allowing the awkward smile to fall, Jean tried his best to keep back the bitter look off his face. Was he really that frightening? He certainly knew it wasn’t because he was an eyesore...Or was he?

Turning, he barely caught Connie asking is Bert would be okay by himself for a few moments.

 _It’s not like he’s a baby for Christ sake._ Gritting his teeth against the words begging to spew out of his mouth, he opened the door not bothering to wait for Connie, and was welcomed into the room by being swamped with all sorts of smells. Following the smells, Jean was about to head towards the area which held the packaged food when a sharp tug on his arm hand him stumbling after the idiot in another direction.

Taking his arm from the grip, Jean was about to protest and insult Connie, but the monkey looking face was directly in front of him.

“Sauce?”

 “Um... no?” He strained, trying not to recoil from the warm breath fanning over his face.  _A little personal space?_ (Déjà vu?)

Connies response was a grin and replacing his face with a pot. “Here.”

Gingerly taking the white Styrofoam pot from the grinning maniac, he peered into it only to be greeted by steam from the cheese covered pasta. Relaxing from not having gruesome food given to him, Jean looked around finding his friend by the drinks.

Picking a plastic fork from the cutlery, he then stretched over Connie to grab a bottle of water for himself and then a milkshake which he held in front of his indecisive friend, who was currently just staring at the colourful bottle before him.

“Just take it.” He snapped after a few seconds, his hand growing a little cold.

A minute passed with Connie dashing around the food rows looking for something and Jean trailing slowly behind, taking hold of a fruit pot once they passed them. After their food was scanned off, they made their way back to the table, seeing that Bert was still the only occupant. This would most likely be a few interesting minutes until someone else got there.

Neatly placing his food down, Jean slid into his seat not really in the mood to look at the other end of the table or to be the first to attempt to talk. Shifting his weight more to the left, he lent and placed his card into his bag and sat back up to only lean heavily on his hand, zoning out whatever Connie was talking about. Fiddling with the plastic fork stuck into his pasta, he pulled it slightly closer to give a glance inside before looking back around the area in hopes to see someone who doesn’t mind Jean talking to them.

A kick to his shin had him glaring at the slightly annoyed looking Connie.

“Don’t ignore us. Answer the important question.”

 “What important question is this?” Angling his position more towards Connie to show he had his attention – for now at least – Jean waited, seeing a slight raise in the others eyebrow.

Leaning a little towards Jean across the table, Connie asked with a serious expression “Big or small?”

Furrowing his brow, Jean tried to think of any logical reason he was being asked this but came up blank. “What?”

“Big. Or. Small? Which is it?”

“Uh-“

A loud obnoxious voice cut in over top of him, “What? His dick? Eh... Small.”

Clamping his teeth together, Jean tried his best not to grind his teeth at the annoying _thing_ that just arrived and blanked out Connies sniggering. “Unlike yours, you don’t have to look through a microscope to see mine.” Mentally kicking himself at his lack of self-restraint with biting back a reply, he also tried not to groan at how pathetic it was. Were they seriously at this low level of insults still?

Unable to stop himself, his eyes found mocking ones directly opposite him, a sneer of their face. Jeans hand balled in his lap and broke the eye contact first, shovelling a mouthful of pasta into his mouth, glancing to the left to not see the ignorant face before him. Why did _it_ have to sit opposite him? 

Today was obviously Jeans lucky day, the said annoyance announced that Armin and Marco were eating in their classroom so they could continue on certain things. Reiner eventually appeared and Bert physically relaxed as the baboon sat beside him. Reiner said that the others weren’t coming due to their own work too. Finally Sasha made her appearance and it was as if the lot of them had had a lot of sugar. Bouncing around, that was until Sasha told them why she was there.

“You’re going to test my food.” She said with a big grin.

Connie froze and seemed to shrink back towards Reiner. “Am I?” the strain of the smile on his face was comical in Jeans eyes.

“All of you are. Please?” Glancing around the table Sasha held a hopeful smile. Silence. Then creaks erupted. Reiner had grabbed a hold of Bert, saying they had something to do in the library before running manically away. The _thing_ had gone without a word, almost like they had vanished. God, how he hoped that was the case.

Poor Connie sat frozen, eyes wide at the wrapping held out towards him, Jean also eyed the piece being held out towards him. She almost faltered, about to bring them back in to herself when Jean plucked it, still resting lazily on his other hand. Lifting the foil up to his eyes, he turned it around a few times glancing at the neat packing. The accident they had this morning didn’t seem to ruin it. Slowly moving his eyes to Connie, Jean saw the goofball still just sitting there, staring at the space which held nothing now.

“I think he’s broke.” Jean murmured, pointing the pinkie finger of his right hand towards Connie, the foil crinkling in his hand.

Briefly looking at Sasha's face, he took note of the small smile and her hands fiddling with the packages in front of her.

“You don’t have to do this. I did give Connie food poising last time, and then all of you as well when you all persisted to try it.”

Sighing, he sat up, tearing the packet. Lifting the cake-looking food object towards Sasha, he cleared his throat saying “Cheers” before taking a bit off it.

(Jean couldn’t stand seeing the girl look even slightly down. Sure, he could be a dick, but she was his friend. Both Connie and Sasha had been his friend for quite some time now.)  
Swallowing his bite, he prayed that it wouldn’t make him ill. It didn’t taste bad. It tasted pretty good to be fair, it was just that Jean would rather not be scolded for getting himself ill... again. 

“It’s good. You’ve improved a lot.” Finishing off the small slice, he gave a thumbs up which in turn received a smile.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Hey...” scratching his cheek, he thought for a moment before he opened his mouth again, “Don’t stress over it, alright? The teachers wouldn’t have moved you to that department and to another campus if they didn’t think you had talent. Sure, it was probably hard on you but it’s to benefit you. Trust in yourself more, Sash. You have talent.”

Feeling a little easier after seeing her smile become less forced and worried, he stretched a hand across the table, asking if she could give him a few and that he’d get Armin and Marco to try them (along with the others, even if he had to force it down them because honestly, she had improved. Armin and Marco weren’t ‘victims’ of her food experiment last time, so they’d surely accept.)

As the warning bell rung, Sasha ran to Jeans side, giving him a sideways hug – which he returned, a tad awkwardly – before she ran off to whatever room it was that she was in. After Jean had made sure Connie was back in the present, he made Connie help him clear the rubbish away, all whilst Jean started to scold him for reacting in such a way. _Maybe he was turning into an old nag_.

After their area was tided, they made their way to their next lesson, Jean forcing a packet onto his helpless looking friend. Rolling his eyes, Jean put his focus onto the building they were heading to, trying not to hear what the shorter male was muttering to himself under his breath. He was sure the guy was going to go apologise thousands of times to the girl with how he reacted.

Holding the door open, he waited for Connie to shuffle his way in before he followed; not too long after he had made his way in the building, someone slapped his hard on the ear and a jab to his side, they grabbed Connies sleeve and darted down the corridor laughing manically.

Grunting, Jean rubbed absent-mindedly at his ear and his side as he straightened out. Hearing the door open and click to a close as someone else from his class made their way in. A hand gripping his shoulder had him looking up to see the big burly blonde graced with a grin. For what, Jean had no idea. It was a little creepy. Trying not to shrink in on himself, he brushed the hand off, continuing his walk to the dreadful class.

If he managed to not kill the _thing_ for the next couple of hours, he’d be shocked, like every other day.  
If he somehow magically managed to stay alive for the rest of the day he would be happy.  
Maybe he could persuade Marco to buy him something on their way home for ditching him the entire day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, well would you look at that, this loser has finally updated. 
> 
> Anyway... Hey there guys.  
> I hope you're all okay, and that you're all doing well(?) and I hope you don't hate me too much for my lack of updating.  
> ~Writers block took a hold of me for a while (psh, months more like) and unfortunately a lot of things are happening/have happened. I kicked my bum into gear though so things are progressing at a decent pace. 
> 
> I'm getting off topic.  
> Back to this chapter. It is short (and a mess), I'm aware and I apologise for that. I'm trying to add in the plot without it seeming rushed. It's working. Stuff shall happen to Marco, shocker.  
> I've been through this chapter a few times so hopefully there are no mistakes.  
> Lets hope it's good and you liked it.


End file.
